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ADRIAN AND ORRILA ; 




J MOTHERS VENGEANCE 



A PLAY, 



IN FIVE ACT! 



BY WILLIAM DIMOND, ESQ. 

n 

AUTHOR OF THE HERO OF THE NORTH, HUNTER 

OF THE ALPS, YOUTH, LOVE, AND FOLLY, 

THE PEASANT EOV, «^C. &-C» / 



" Revenge impatient rose ; 
Hp threw his blood stained sword in thunder t 



NEW- YORK ; 



■ . U.S. A, ''I 



PUBLISHED BY THE LONGWORTHl?, 

At the Dramatic Repository, 
Shakspeare- Gallery ^ 



SepU-^lUl, 



T^^^ 



PROLOGUE. 

Long has the stage, determined to impart 
Such scenes alone as meliorate the heart, 
Karr'd from all avenues, with rigid sway. 
Plots which corrupt, and maxims that betray. 
With elevation now, the alter'd muse 
That praise rejects, which virtue should refuse; 
In fancy's rose no vivid color sees. 
Unless that vividness, the just can please ; 
In wit's gay brilliant owns no sparkling gem, 
Unless allow'd as brilliancy by them ; 
Proud of no praise, of no distinction vain, 
Unless distinguish'd in the moral train, 
Celebrity she holds as disrepute, 
And scorns all laurel from a shameful root ! 
Licentious follies rarely intervene, 
And truth and sense, and honor claim the scene ! 

When love's distress shall in our story rise. 
Let sighs break forth — for those are nature's sighs 
When persecuted worth in grief appears, 
Be proud to weep — for those are virtue's tears. 

But to our author : each dramatic bard 
Solicits, but in vain, a long regard ; 
Form'd to attract the fashion of the day, 
They, like that fashion, swiftly pass away. 
They gain at most, employ'd in such a cause. 
Uncertain honor, fugitive applause ! 
Now hopes, now fears, his anxious heart compose, 
Half sunk by these ; and just upheld by those ; 
For in our days when envy smiles to sting, 
Grief follows joy, and praises censure bring. 
Then wits and heroes, and the critic few. 
Here let me pass, and, ladies, plead to you ; 
You, for whose favor every wit is bright. 
All critics comment, and all heroes fight ! 
Protection from the fair at once conveys 
Ample renown, consolidated praise ; 



4 PROLOQlTE. 

For truth acknowledges, in nature's name, 

The SMILES of BEAUTY are the wreaths of fawpe 1 

Urged still by them, by their reward imprest, 

Each noble passion animates the breast ; 

They form the heart to every aim relinedj 

Exalt, delight, and dignify mankind ! 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



COVENT-GARDEN, 

Prince of Altenburg - - Mr. Cooke 
Count of Rosenheim - - — Munden 
Adrian - - - — C. Kemhh 

Michael - ^ — Lision 

>p&asant$ 
Friedbert - - J - - — Dtnman 
Leopold - . - — Chapman 

Anselm - - - - — Waddy 

Xavier - - " - — ^ Treby 

Haufroy {a minstrel) - - — Bellamy 

Lothaire {a page) - - Mrs. d Kemhh 

Orrila of Rosenheim - - Miss Brunton 
Madame Clermont - • — Smith 

Githa (governess to Orrila) 3Irs. Mattocks 

Minna - - - - Miss Tyrer 
Louitgarde [her cousin) - — Bristow 
Ida - - - — fVaddy 

Domestics, falconers, male and female peasants, &c, 

gCENE The electorate of Saxony, about twenty 

leagues from Dresden. 

rpi5iE— -^From day-break until late in the evening 



ADRIAN AND ORRILA. 



ACT I. 



SCEKE 1 — a 'caUey scattered at intervals with rustic 
djceliings—the cottage of Michael towards the front 
— a wooden bridge crosses a rivulet at the bottom of 
the stage — m i nn a is discovered spinning. 

MICHAEL is seen running eagerly over iM bridge. 

Mich, Minna ! Minna ! Minna ! 

Min. Only one of that name is here to answer you^ 
yet you would call upon a dozen. 

Mich. Oh ! such news ! such news! 

Min. Indeed ! 

Mich. I have ran myself out of breath to tell it you. 

Min, When told, shall I think it worth the hearing ? 

Mich. Oh ! such wonderful news ! 

Min, Well, what is it about ? 

Mich. I dont know that ; but I know there is somt 
news — great, surprising, miraculous news, which when 
divulged, will fling the whole district into consterna- 
tion! — two messengers from Dresden have arrived at 
the castle since day-break — the whole family seem 
ready to jump out of their skins for joy— the old armor 
is scouring in the great hall — fires lighting in the state- 
chambers — the covers taken off the best chairs — my 
lady Orrila, running like a fawn from room to room, 
giving directions every-where— dame Githa putting ok 
her holiday stomacher and coif, and master Anselm the 



6 ADRIAN [Dimond 

butler, uncorking a batch of the famous old rlienish 
—are not all these proofs of news, aye, and of prodi- 
gious news ? 

Min, So, then you have returned from the castle 
without learning the particulars ? out upon you, sim- 
pleton. 

Mich. There now — every body takes the liberty of 
calling me names ; but I am no simpleton, madam wife. 
1 took all possible pains to learn the secret, but nobody 
would attend to me; " master Anselm," says 1, "inform 
^'mc of the news" — " ask no questions, clown," replied 
the butler, and pushed me backwards — *' dame Githa," 
said I, bowing respectfully in her face, " tell me the 
*' meaning of this confusion" — stand out of my way, 
numscull," answered the dame, and boxed my ears 
withal: — still ( persevered to inquire, but the very 
scullions had the audacity to grin in my face, and re- 
fuse me an answer. 

3Iin. My poor husband, with what uncivil treatment 
do you always meet ! 

Mick. Aye, and I too, who am myself the most po- 
lite and well-educated person in the district — the first 
in consequence and property of all the vassals upon 
count Rosenheim's domain— the owner of the prettiest 
cottage, the master of the prettiest horse 

Min, And above all, the husband,of the prettiest \^o- 
man! 

3Iick. True, very true, my charming wife ! — but I 
dont regard the impertinence of people — nriy penetra- 
tion is such, that I can read most human events, with- 
out borrowing spectacles of my neighbor — and I fore- 
see that this day will be proclaimed a festival upon some 
account or other — so, I shall be prepared to appear 
with propriety at the moment — T'll change these 
clothes and put on my handsome holiday suit directly. 

3Iin. What ! before the festival is proclaimed ? 

Mich^ Yes, that whenever pleasure opens her ball- 
room, 1 may be ready to step forward with a grace, 
and offer myself as her partner for the first dance,-r 
Wife, have you locked up my clothes ? 



Act I] AND ORRILA 7 

Min. No— the key is in the closet. 

Mich. Then I'll array myself at once—I shall wear 
my bright orange doublet, and my scarlet hose, my blue 
jerkin, with poppy colored sleeves—my hat and feather^, 
and then a beautiful boquet of dutch tulips ! there will 
be a coup d'oeil ! 

Min. Exquisite indeed ! nobody in the village will 
be dressed like you. 

Mick. No, no ; I flatter myself Michael Von Trus- 
selburg can make himself a conspicuous figure upon 
most occasions. [exit into cottage 

Mm. Go thy ways, for a kind-hearted, light-witted, 
merry, silly fellow ! what can this bustle at the castle 
mean ? but so the dear lady Orrila be happy there, I 
care not. Let the sun shine, and the faces of those 
she loves, look cheerly, Minna rises from her humble 
bed contented, and meets the morning ever with a song 
of welcome! ^ 

AIR — MINNA» 

Ah ! welcome merry hour of dawn ! 

The fresh breeze rustling through the com. 

The rising sun's prelusive beams 

That dance in gold on glassy streams. 

The gossamer's fine silvery thread 

That lightly floats o'er field-flower's head > 

The dew-drops left the weeping night, 

That crown green leaves with beads of light 

Now sweetly swell the peasant's lay 

And greet the blue-eyed blushing day \ 

The highland blast of hunter's horn, 
The sheep-bell tinkling from the lawn- 
The sky-lark's shrill rejoicing call, 
The low of kine from grassy stall, 
The honey-maker's murmur'd song, 
Vyhile trading flowery banks along. 
The sprightly dash of falling floods ' 
And all the music of the woods. 



S ADRIAN tDimonJ 

Now sweetly swell the peasant^ s lay 
And greet the blue-eyed blushing day ! 

LOTHAiRE appears upon the bridge. 

Loth, {pausing half way) Aye ! there stands the old 
cottage — and yon httle tripping gentlewoman— yes — 
lis she herself! {crosses the bridge) 

Min, What a handsome, gay-looking cayalier ! 
whom can he want in this valley ? 

Loth, {coines forward and parades about the stage 
with consequence — sings) " And he conquered the 
world with his row de row !" (stealing a look) yes— tis 
she! 

Min. How the little varlet struts !— he must be a 
person of consequence by his pomposity. 

Loth* She does not recollect me yet. I'll try how 

inuch five years have altered me save you good 

woman ! 

Min. The like to you, sweet sir ! faith he's a come- 
ly youth! 

Loth, Pr^ythee ! can you direct me to the cottage of 
one Minna, the daughter of old Albert and Agnes 
Geisler — who married a wealthy peasant in this valley ! 

Min. You mean Michael Von Trusselburg — ah ! 
sweet sir, yonder is his house, and here stands his wife 
— I am Minna ! {curtseying low) 

Loth, Indeed ! then by my guess, you had once a 
brother 

Min. Yes sir, a wild, scape-grace of a boy, who ran 
away from home, five years since, to seek his fortune 
at Dresden 

Loth, A sad, wicked, mischievous creature, I sup- 
pose. 

3Iin. Bad enough, indeed sir ; he was always the 
terror of the village. Eternally in some evil scrape from 
his cradle — though I, as his elder sister, took great 
pains to warn him against such courses. 

Loth, Umph ! — do you remember, when he rpbbed 
the curate's orchard; and you stood under the hedge to 



Act 1] AND ORRILA 9 

catch the apples in your lap, as he plucked them from 
the tree ? 

Alin. Oil ! the saints ! who could have told you that ? 

Lot/i. Ah\ Minna ! 

Min. Mercy ! now I look at your features— if it 
were not for that laced mantle, and that plume of 
feathers — 

Lofh. For whose brother would you take me ? 

Min. Why is it — no. surely it cannot be — 

Lol/i. Yes, but it is, Minna ! sister Minna ! 

(catches her in his arms) 

Min. Lcthaire ! are you then Lothaire in earnest? 
oh ! welcome, a thousand times, my dear, unruly, mis- 
chievous, truant brother ! 

Loth. No less a greeting to yourself, my dear, un« 
grateful, scandalous, and story-telling sister ! 

Min. Mercy ! how the boy is grown ! 

Loth^ Yes, the little, ragged, barefooted, mischief- 
loving urchin, who left your threshold five years since, 
returns at least, well clothed and fed — a fev/ inches 
taller — many maxims wiser— ducats in his purse, and 
happiness bounding at his heart. But I have twenty 
millions of questions to ask — have you been ill since [ 
left you ? are you well now ? where's your husband ? 
how many children have you got ? is the old one eyed 
mare stiil ahve ? 

3Iin, Hold, hold! I claim my sex's privilege, and 
must indulge my own curiosity, before I consent to 
gratify yours — to begin — whence come you ? and 
what is your business here ? 

Loth. Ah, sister — the little village boy is grown in- 
to a great man at court — I am in the secrets of one 
who is in the secrets of every body — confidential page 
to the great prince Altenburg — prime minister of Sax- 
ony, a palace is my residence, and 1 associate purely 
with stars and ribbons — white wands and black rods — 
privy counsellors and public orators — gentlemen of 
the bed-chamber, and maids of honor. 

Min. A courtier, oh, that ever I should live to '.ave 
a brother at court. 
B 



/O ADRIAN [Dimond 

Loth, Now, to your second question — my present 
business ? marry, at the castie of Rosenheim— where 
within this very hour 1 kissed the fair hand of lady 
Orriia, and delivered, on my knee, a letter from the 
prince, my master. Day had just begun to break, 
when I reached the summit of the hili that overlooks 
my native valley— ah ! Minna, how painfully, yet how 
joyously did my heart flutter at that moment — for five 
years I had not seen the spot, yet every object lived as 
freshly in rny memory, as if it were but yesterday that 
I had left it —the twitter of the birds, the sheep bell 
tinkling from the fold — the lazy murmur of the rivulet 
— nay. the very winds that whistled through the pine- 
trees all of them sounded to me like the voices of fa- 
miliar friends, and awakened their echoes at my heart ; 
1 paused for an instant on the height, and my eyes 
wistfully traversed the space below, delighted, yet dis- 
tracted where to fix their gaze ; to the right, arose a 
moss grown spire — ^twas the church where 1 had lisped 
my earliest prayers. On the left, stood the village 
school, by many a childish care and childish joy en- 
deared. And yet a little further, nestled in a dell, as 
the blue mists of morning floated past, I beh^kl the 
humble cot where I was born. A confused feeling 
rushed upon my soul — at first I thought it joy, but tears 
trickled down my cheek, and then I doubted of its 
source. ** My home, oh. god ! my home," I cried — 
the wide divorce of space was in thai, breath dissolved 
— and v^hile my body loitered still a league behind, my 
winged soul at once flew hither, beat at your case- 
ment, and flu? tered to your arms, (flings hem self on 
Minnows neck and kisses her) 

MICHAEL enters from thehouse^ new dressed. 

Mich. There, now lam dressed and T think I shall 
strike— heyday— a stranger kissing my wife ! marry- 
but I shall strike before I expected — (passes between 
them) holla — youngster — every bee to his own hive— 
you st^^al no sweets from those lips, 1 promise you. 

Min. Bumpkin— hast no manners? learn to treat 



Act I] AND ORRILA 11 

a gentleman with more respect — he comes from court. 

Mich, Ay, but he does not come to court here ! 

Loth Ha, ha ! Minna, your husband is no change 
ling. Why Michael : do not you know this face ? 

M'ch. Yes, for a p'aguy brazen one. 

Loth, Nay, master churl, 1 am not to be answ^ered 
thus. Harkee man, shake hands heartily, pledge me 
in a cup of rhenish, and cry '' welcome brother in- 
law, after ^vq years absence !" 

Mick. Hey, whit, how ! let me look in your face — 
ah, that knavish roll with the eye — I know you now, 
so then, young hopeful, you are returned at last. 

Loth, Yes, and are you not rejoiced to see me 
again ? 

M ch. Oh — certainly — such a near relation of my 
wife's — though to say the truth, 1 thought you rather 
too nearjust now. 

3Im. 1 trust you are convinced how absurd jealousy 
renders a husband ; indeed, Michael you have a poor^ 
weak head. 

Mich Therefore it is, I am anxious to preserve it 
from superfluous burdens, (a distant rt-port of can- 
non is heard) Hark, the great guns upon the castle 
ramoartare firing. Now, madam Minna, will you be- 
lieve me ? did I not tell you some news had arrived? I 
knew that a messenger cam^^ to the castle this morn- 
ing ; and I knew that he brought a letter, which— no 
— [ did not know that Ah, how I wi^h any one 
would tell me what that letter contained. 

Loth. I believe I could help you to the secret, 

Mich. Oh, ray dear bother-in la v, if you can, 1 
shall be eternally obliged. Nobody loves a secret so 
well as [do; and nobody deserves to be trusted with 
one so soon—because my disposition is liberal, and i 
indulge all the neighborhood with the particulars, the 
moment 1 have learned them myself 

Loth, A powerful plea, truly. Well, then, learn 
that \ was the messenger 

Mich, You; oh, brother in law, was it you ? well., 
amd the letter — ~ 



1£ ADRIAN [Dimond 

Loih. Announced to lady Orrila, that her father 
quits Dresden, and returns this day to his family and 
castle. 

Mich. Old count Rosenheim returned, here's news ? 
its an epoch in the history of nations. 

Loilu My master, the great prince Altenburg, ac- 
companies the count, and is to remain for some days 
a visitor at the castle. 

Mick, The prime minister of Saxony resident in our 
village, a solemn address must be offered on the occa- 
sion ; 1 shall be deputed to deliver it : 1 say nothing of 
my talents for oratory, but if his excellency should dis- 
cover any thing in my style, and think proper to ap- 
point me to some situation in the government— how- 
ever, I jay nothing. So, my dear brother in law, then 
you are in the service of prince Altenburg : describe 
his character to me ; that is, just hint his weak points. 

Loth. 1 never yet have found them. Spots are said 
to exist on the sun's disk ; but a surrounding glory 
confounds the vain eye that would detect them there. 
Thus far, however, of my master will I say, he always 
makes his equals remember he is a prince, yet never 
forgets himself that his inferiors are men. 

Mich. Is he married ? 

Loth. He has been a widower for twenty years ; but 
if I mistake not. lie will shortly part with his liberty 
again, and the fair hands of the count Rosenheim's 
daughter are destined to fix the rosy chain. 

Min. What our young lady Orrila ! impossible, 
brother, she loves another. 

Loth- Indeed; educated in seclusion, who can be 
the object of her passion? 

Min. The handsome mr Adrian, madame Cler- 
mont's son: they have loved each other from child- 
hood, and the whole village has noticed their attach- 
ment. 

Mich. Pooh, pooh ! never mind other folk's affairs ; 
but let us regard our own. I am so surprised, and so 
bewildered, that I protest I scarcely can collect my 
thoughts. 



Act I] AND ORRILA U 

Min, If you were to leave them loose, nobody would 
stoop to pick them up. 

Mich, In the first place, I must convene an assem - 
bly of the villagers ; then, I must make a speech to 
them ; then, 1 must make another speech to his excel- 
lency ; and then oh, brother inlaw, what a trouble- 
some thing it is to have the reputation for greater tal- 
ent than our neighbors : now you who are a courtier, 
canU you assist me with a few phrases of compliment 
to fling in occasionally ? pr'ytheee, how would one of 
your true bred court-orators deliver himself in my sit 
uation ? 

Loth, Nearly in your own style ; utter many words 
with very little meaning — but, allons ! we'll compose 
a notable effusion between us. You shall pledge me 
in a draught of the old vintage ; and. as the test of 
friendship passes to our lips, fancy will dip her pinion 
in the cup, and gay conceits rise sparkling to the brim* 

TRIO — LOTHAIRE, MINNA, MICHAEL. 

Of wine, of rosy wine, around ! 

Oh ! fill and froth the goblet high, 
Let friendship's hand the cup compound, 

Let love breathe o'er it one sweet sigh. 
And fancy there shall nectar brew — 
A draught of sunbeam steep'd in dew ! 
There^s witchcraft in the generous grape 1^ — 

It spreads broad day through midnight gloom > 
And bids, on Zembla's utmost capcj 

Ideal roses breathe and blooa^ — 
While mortals drink, old earth r:\oves round, 
And moving — nearer hcaoen is found ! 

[exeunt into coiiage 

SCENE II — an apartment furnished with simpiicty, 
and opening upon a lamn — madam clermont e??- 
ters xcith a hurried step — she seals kerse'f, then risfs 
suddenly again^ and paces the stage in visible in- 
quietude. 

Mad, It will not be ! I pass from chamber to cham- 
ber, but the same objects are still before my eyes. The 
B 2 



1ft ADRIAN [Dunond 

fiend follows me ; tlje fierce avenging fiend who never 
sleeps ! I strive to fly, but he pursues me every where : 
he flits across my sight ; he mutters at my ear; he will 
drive me mad ! (she covers her face ziith her hands, 
for a moment^ and then proceeds with more composure) 
oh, that this day were blotted from the calendar ! oh, 
that it might return no more, or rather that it ne'er 
had been ! yet, on this very day, how beautiful does na- 
ture seem I sunshine fills the heavens ; earth is dressed 
with flowers, and the soft morning wind steals loving- 
ly against my cheek, even as the breath of infants, slum- 
ber-stilled and dreaming of delight. Thus ; ay, even 
thus, twenty years back, did nature smile upon this day. 
Waters of the Elbe ; your glassy bosom then reflected 
skies as cloudless, and on your margin, flowers as 
freshly bloomed, that bended not when zephyr kissed 
the bank ! yet ihen^ amidst the peace of elements, how 
fearful was the warfare in this breast ! clear-flowing 
river! a desolating storm, 1 visited your course, the 
fiend was at my heart, and vengeance in my power. 
Strait the revel of your sv^^ains was ended : from shore 
to shore, the sullen death bell tolled, and all your 
echoes answered to the shriek of woe. Revenge was 
mine; but ah ! remorse, unceasing and consuming is 
its bitter fruit — an accusing voice, in secret, tells me I 
Lave sinned : for twenty years, in my daily walks, up- 
on my midnight pillow, conscience still has haunted 
me ; and nov^, this fatal morning, the anniversary of 
my crime, I feel new torments, and my pangs redou- 
ble! have mercy, heaven ! I have sinned, but tears have 
flowed for my transgression ; accept my penitence ! 
pardon, pardon ! (she sinks on one knec^ and st/^ypli- 
antly raises her hands to heaven — a drian enters from 
behind) 

Adr. In prayer — oh ! mother, may heaven grant 
whatever wish now meets its ear, and Adrian with his 
life-blood would repay the boon ! 

Mad, My son— bless thee, Adrian ! a mother's bless- 
ing be upon ihee ! 

Adr^ You give me what I came to crave ; this i^ 



Act I] AND ORRILA 15 

my birth day, and it seemed unwelcome till you had 
blessed it to me. But how is this ; you look pale, and 
your eyes are dim and heavy — mother, are you not 
well? 

Mad. Yes, 1 have had a restless night, but I am 
well, 1 must be well, for is not this my Adrian's birlh 
day? and do 1 not see him risen into manhood, health- 
ful and happy ; all that ray proudest wish could form 
him ? 

Adr. Mother, there is a question I would ask of you, 
will you answer it ? 

Mad. Assuredly you cannot ask, and I refuse to sat- 
isfy ! 

Adr. You have often told me that my father died, 
while I was yet an infant, and from the birth of memo- 
ry 1 have only known one parent, one instructor, one 
pratecting friend; no visitors have ever passed our doors, 
except the family of Rosenheim, and some peasants of 
the neighboring village — this narrow valley, and its sim- 
ple cultivators, have been to me the universe — when I 
have climbed the loftiest of our encircling hills, and 
from its breezy summit viewed the stretch of space be- 
yond ; marked, on the crested rock, how castle tow- 
ers or convent spires have gleamed ; watched o'er deep 
rivers, where the vessel ghded merrily ; through the 
clear air, perceived the smoke from mighty cities rise ; 
and known, throughout the boundless scene that mariji 
social man^ held chartered range and free prescrip- 
tion sway. Ah, trust me, mother ; full often then a 
painful feeling has oppressed my heart, and 1 have sad- 
ly cried, '' Fair world : your bournes are many, and 
" your children numberless: yet not one portal opens 
^^ unto me ; among my fellow men, I may not claim 
'' a single friend !" 

Mad, {uneasily) What would you infer? to your 
question, Adrian ! 

Adr. 1 have often longed to propose it — but you al- 
ways seemed to shun the subject — yet, indeed, my cu- 
riosity is so natural — so — 

Mad, Indulge it freely— let me leam its object? 



16 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Adr, This, then it is — have I no other living relative 
beside yourself? or in thih-wide creation are you the 
only person to vi^hom I owe affection and respect? 

Mad. {after a short pause) Adrian ! I was myself 
an only child — my parents have long been dead, and 
other kindred I never knew. 

Adr. But of my father's family ; do no relations of 
his exist ? 

Mad, {with embarrassment) Tis— tis possible some 
may ; but so long a period has elapsed since I have in- 
quired or heard of them — 

Adr. Yet they would remember our name, and ac- 
knowledge the connexion Oh, mother, for your son's 
sake venture the experiment, and re-establish an inter- 
course with Society. 

Mad, (greatly agitated) It cannot be. Dear boy, 
do not ask my reasons ; the theme is painful to me : 
be satisfied to learn, it cannot be ! 

Adr. 1 submit ; but I also must regret. 

Mnd, And wherefore should you sigh for intimates 
you never knew ! has your home become irksome to 
you ? can the friends you already possess, no longer sat- 
isfy ? does your mother cease to be beloved, and has 
the society of Orrila lost its charm ? 

Adr Ah, no— dear as the vital fountains of my blood 
I prize my mother and my Orrila ; but my heart is 
large enough to welcome strangers, yet take no jot of 
room from its natural inmates - it swells — it softens, 
and would fain expand to clasp all human nature in 
its warm embrace ! 

Mad. Oh, lovely season of ingenuous youth ! when 
all is confidence, delightful novelty, and innocent belief 
— with feelings just as vivid, and with impulses as 
glowing, / entered upon life. At your age, I also 
thought the world my home, and all its creatures 
friendly ; but my waking dream was brief— like our 
earliest parent, 1 gathered from the tree of knowledge, 
and lost my paradise. 

Adr, But I have never proved the world's injustice — 
ought 1 to distrust, without experience of any danger ? 



Act I] AND ORRILA 17 

Mad. All, when the vernal meadow tempts our feet, 
why must the fatal sting be felt, ere we can believe 
that serpents gender in the perfumed grass ? but I am 
wrong, perhaps, to warn you: the joyous cup is now 
lifted to your lip, and mine should not be the hand to 
dash your draught with bitters prematurely mixed. No, 
my Adrian, long may your spirit hold its generous, ar* 
dent course, uncrossed by chances that have palsied 
mine. Yours is the age for unpolluted bliss ; tis the 
sw^eet May month of your years ; life's blue and sun- 
ny dawn, when fancy sweeps a harp in every wind, 
and hope files laughing through unclouded skies ! 

( Orr'ila calls wit/wiii) 

Orr. Adrian ! Adrian ! 

Adr. Hark, tis the voice of OiTila ! (orrila enters 
running ft om the lawn) 

Orr.. Adrian! where are you? oh, 1 have had such 
a chase to reach you ; but 1 am here at last — 

Ad}\ Sweet Orrila! tis kind indeed to visit us thus 
early. 

Orr. Oh, I was resolved to come ; dame Githafor- 
bade me to leave the castle, but I flatly refused obedi 
ence ; no threats could detain ; but away over hill and 
dale I flew direct, and left my poor governess to hob- 
ble after me in vain. 1 remembered whose birth-day 
it was ; and see, Adrian, I am come not without my of- 
fering — {presents a chain of fancy work) — the device 
of this locket is my own execution, these links too were 
woven by me : will you promise to wear it sometimes 
for m,y sake ? 

Adr, Ever, ever ! it shall lodge next my heart, a 
preserving amulet. 

Orr. But I must hang the chain round your neck my- 
self! {Adrian kneels^ and sht fastens the locket) now 
rise, my faithful knight ! you bear my device upon your 
buckler ! 

Adr. Ah, whose hand so fit as Orrila*s to fix a chain 
on Adrian ! 

Orr, Flatterer! but I must-make swift use of my 



18 ADRIAN [Dlmond 

visit, or Githa will be here. Oh, madam, I have such 
news to tell you — 1 know you will rejoice to hear it, 
because it occasions happiness to me. 

Mad. Dear Oriila, you judge of my friendship 
rightly ; what is the circumstance ? 

Orr, Count Rosc^nheim, that respected father, whose 
face i have not seen since infancy, but whose idea has 
never been absent from my memory — returns at last, 
to embrace his child, and give her the sweet assurance 
of a parent's love, fiave i not cause for happiness? 
and will not my friends participate my joy ? 

Mad. They will — they must — ihe virtuous inter- 
change of natural affections, is the sweetest offering, 
from mortals to their creator! 

Orr. We are to have a succession of revels and 
gaieties at the castle — balls, masques and minstrelsy, 
without end — old Githa is in such confusion wilh pre- 
paring. We scarcely can find chambers to lodge the 
company 

Msid Are count Rosenheim's travelling attendants 
so numurous? 

Orr. No, my father's train mie^ht easily be lodged ; 
but one of the ministers — his oldest friend and patron 
at court, visits the castle, in hiscompany — tisthe prince 
of Ahenburg (madam Chrmoni utters a sudden cry 
and clasps her hands in agony before her face) 

Adr. Mother ! 

Orr Dearest friend ! 

Mad. (struggling with emotion) A sudden pang 
shot across my temples ; twas dreadful, but tis past ; 
excuse me, Orrila, if I retire an instant. 

Orr Let me h^ad you to your chamber. 

Mad, No, 1 require no aid ; a minute's quiet will re- 
store me — I must be alone; I command you, Adrian, 
let no one follow me — tis accomplished — I am lost ! 

[aside^ Sf exit 

Orr, Heavens, how terrible and sudden h(-r dis~ 
order ! Adrian did your mother complain of illness 
befor? I came ? 

Adr, Yes, but slightly ; 1 think she started at the 



Act IJ AND ORRILA 19 

name of Altenbnrg — can she have known this prince ? 

Orr. Oh, no ; at least it is improbable; for eighteen 
years madame Clermont has not left the valley, and the 
prince never visited this countiy till now 

Adr Yet tvvas strange ; what is the prince's age ? 

Orr, Nearly the same as my father's ; he has been 
described to me as an excellent man, but unfortunate— 
he lost a wife, to whom he was tenderly attached, in 
the bloom of youthful beauty, and shortly after a dar- 
ling child, the only memorial of his ill starred wedlock, 
by accident was drowned in the Elbe. Cares of gov- 
ernment have since engrossed his life, though a secret 
sorrow still is said to prey upon his heart. 

Adr, But th<^ gaieties of Rosenheim castle will dispel 
his sadness — such crowds of company — such variety of 
sports, you will doubtless be very happy, Orrila. {^stghs^ 

Oir. Assuredly, but will not you partake my happi- 
ness? hoiv is it, Adrian ! that when my heart throbs 
with rapture, yours beats but coldly ? does it displease 
you, that I should feel rejoiced ? 

Adr. No ; but if it did, the displeasure of a worm 
like me could matter little. Pageantry will delight the 
eye ; the song of minstrels vibrate on the ear, and 
through the glittering halls, where princes wait to 
catch her smile, the heiress of Rosenheim will pass 
elate, while Adrian and his humble fortunes are for- 
gotten. 

Orr. Unkind and undeserved ' now could I scold 
you by the hour, without a pause for breathing — but I 
see you are unhappy, and I cheek my spleen. Tell 
me, inojrate ! when did Orrila banquet on a selfish joy, 
nor share it with her Adrian ? or, when did your eye 
droop in sorrow, and mine not weep for fellowship? 
ah, trust me, lightly should I prize the varnished flat- 
teries of courtly strangers, poised with the plain sin- 
ceiity of one familiar friend ! 

Adr. Kind, generous Orrila, then I shall sometimes 
still be present to your thoughts! 

Orr. Ay, and to my sight also. You must visit me 
daily at the castle ; my father will rejoice to see you 



20 ADRIAN [Dimond 

there, he was always partial to you as a boy ; dont you 
recollect, when we both were children, how often he 
has set under the great chesnut tree, while we danced 
waltzes on the lawn before him ? do you recollect those 
times, Adrian ? 

Adr, Do I ? ah, where flows the Lethe to wash away 
remembrances so sacred and so sweet ? precious, inesti- 
mable moments ! they are the roses in memory's par- 
ty colored wreath, the grains of gold, that time shakes 
from his glass, unmixed, before the vulgar sands begin 
to filter ! 

Orr. A few kindred atoms may yet be sprinkled on 
the heap. We will dance together again, Adrian, and 
you shall be my partner at our first ball. 

Adr, Nobility might claim your hand 

Orr^ But friendship should receive it ! 

Adr, My head would be bewildered by such bliss. 

Orr. Still if your feet were preserved, our dancing 
might proceed — then, the harp and tabret preluding 
merrily in the hall 

Adr. The polished, oaken floor just vibrating to our 
step 

Orr. Our arms skilfully twisted in each other's 

Adr, Our breaths mingling, and our eyes encounter- 
ing 

Orr Oh, Adrian ! 

Adr. Orrila, my own Orrila ! {l/iey spring involun- 
tar ily forward and embrace) 

enter githa, behind. 

Gith, Hoity-toity ! pretty indecorous conduct, truly ! 
kissing and hugging in open day: why lady Orrila, la- 
dy Orrila, have you no shame ? 

Orr. Of what should I be ashamed, Githa ? is it a 
fault to express my friendship ? 

Gith. Friendship, truly ! cant friendship be express- 
ed in words, and at a decent distance ? and you, mr. 
Adrian ; out upon you, young graceless, if any person 
had been in sight, when you embraced lady Onila, I 
^•should have swooned with shame ! 



Act 1] AND ORRILA 21 

Adr. But no person was in sight ; we were quite 
alone ; tiierefore, my dear Githa, there could not be 
any harm. 

Gilh Ah ! 1 dont know that — I dont like young 
people to embrace. 

Orr. Nay, Githa, now you are inconsistent ; for I 
remember many years ago, when Adrian and I had 
wrought some childi^^h quarrel, you ordered us to em- 
brace, and become friends again. 

Giik, Girl, vexatious girl ! if I did — circumstances 
change with time — and persons change with time. 
{measuring the figures of the young people meaningly 
imthher eye) 

Adr. Yet some there are, whose persons bid defi- 
ance to the power of time — your own, for instance, Gi- 
tha. I think I never saw you look handsomer than to- 
day. 

Orr. No ; nor dressed with a happier taste— that 
stomacher fits so bewitchingiy tight 

Adr. Then those rose-colored trimmings lend such 
-a lively glow to the complexion! 

Gith. Ah, you are a couple of good children, and I 
dare say you meant no impropriety: so I'll forgive you 
"both. Rut come, my lady truant, you must homeward 
now. Marry, a pretty chase you have led me this morn- 
ing, over rocks and through briars ; its a providence 
-my point lace hood was not torn to pieces among the 
brambles ! they are waiting at the castle for my orders, 
in a thousand important matters ; and if his lordship 
should arrive while 1 am absent — mercy, what a hurry- 
ing thought. 

Orr. Is my father, then, expected so very soon ? 

Gith. Every hour, every minute ; and unless 1 am 
oipon the spot, nothing wnll go right ! come — home- 
-ward, homeward. 

Orr. Adrian, you will visit the castle by noon ; you 
^vill dine with us ; I shall prepare my father to expect 
jou. 

Adr. Your words are !ny oracles of fate ; and tis 
^•t ligion to obey you, 
C 



22 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Orr. Then you will come ; remember I have year 
promise. 

G'lth, Lady, lady ! will you tarry here till mid- 
night ? homeward, 1 say ! 

Orr, Have with you Githa — Adrian farewell. 
Ere level sun beams strike at noon-tide hour, 
The brook runs low, and droops the fev'rish 

flower. 
Let thy light step o'er skim the parting plain, 
And friendship lead to Orrila again ! 
Ad. Ah, doubt not, fair one ! of my dull delay, 

Since life is with thee, and but breath away ! 
Or. Though space parts bodies, nought our souls can . 
sever. 

Ad. Long have they mutual been 

Or, And shall for ever ! 

[exeiint Orrila and Githa t 
Adr. Heart swell proudly — pulses throb with unre> * 
strained delight — the moment [ so long have dreaded, 
which, at a distance, threatened like a dark and stormy * 
cloud, now it has reached me, breaks into genial, sunny ' 
shapes, and all my terrors are transformed to joys — 
The solitude of Rosenheim is disturbed, but the single- 
ness of affection remains inviolate Highborn men 
are competitors for her favor ; still Orrila prefers her 
earliest friend, the lowly and unknown. 

enter madame clermont. 

Mad. Adrian ! have our visitors departed ? 

Adr. This instant, we exchanged adieu ! 

Mad. Tis well — it was my wish to find you alone 

to speak to you without a witness 

Adr, Whence is this disorder? your look — your ' 
voice — your manner 

Mad, If they are wild and terrifying, they do buU 
reflect my heart — are you prepared to quit your na- 
tive valley, and accompany me to a distant country? 

Adr, Eternal powers! whither would you go ? 

Mad» I have not yet decided ; but all roads a^c^• 
equal to me, if they lead from Rosenheim. 



Act I] AND ORRILA 23 

Adr, I shudder while you speak — at Rosenheim 
lives Orrila — must 1 separate from her ? 

Mad. Or from 7ne ! answer me, Adrian I from your 
childhood upwards, have 1 not proved to you a kind, 
indulgent parent ? have 1 not watched by you in sick- 
ness, and administered to your pleasures when in 
health ? does the unwearied care of eighteen years en- 
title me to your gratitude? is my happiness regarded 
by my son ? 

u4dr. Ah, why those questions? heaven sees my 
heart and knows that it is grateful. 

Mad. Then by every claim cfduty, and every pray- 
er of nature, 1 call upon you to preserve a mother , 
from distraction : will you consent to leave this 
country ? 

Adr, What are your motives for departure ? 

Mad. I cannot utter them Oh, Adrian, you are the 
only object of my love on earth — 1 cannot resign you 
but with life : yet man, cruel man, would despoil me 
of ray treasure ; afar, to wilds and woods, and pathless 
deserts, let me fly. and hide you from his search ? 

Adr. Merciful heavens, what is my danger ? whom 
must [ shun ? 

Mad. Altenburg ! if he sees you, I am lost ; he 
would tear you from me ; and that instant, despair 
would stdke me to the grave. 

Adr. Impossible ! in earth's wide range, no heart 
so ruthless can be found, that would despoil a parent 
of its only child. 

Mad [shrieking franlickly) Peace, inhuman boy, 
peace, peace — let me not hear those words — those 
fatal, doom denouncing words; 1 burn — I blaze — 
madness scorches my brain. 

Adr. What have 1 said to wound you ? how have I 
offended ? 

Mad. (fiingtng herself wildly at his feet) Adrian, 
behold me at your feet. The mother kneels before 
the son. 

Adr. Madame, parent, rise, rise ! , 

Mad. Never, till you have promised to comply. I 



24 ADRIAN [Dimond 

am wild— I am desperate ; speak, then, for life or 
death is in your word. 

Adr At once 1 yield my fate into your hands ; dis- 
pose as you will, of it and me. 

Mad, Take my tternal blessing in reward. This 
night we leave the valley. 

Adr, Oh, my heart ; but shall we not return ? 
Mad. Never, while Altenburg remains at Rosen- 
heim. 

Adr. Has he. then, injured you so deeply ? 
Mad. He is my bane — my curse— my horror! he 
steeped my early youth in tears of bitterness ; and now, 
in riper age. his fatal agency pursues me still. 

Adr. Oh, for those tears, may the oppressor's life 
drops fall. Hear me, eternal justice, while 1 curse — 
Mad, [catching his' arm) Forbear, though all man^ 
kind conspire to curse his name, still be your lip silent, 
Altenburg must not be arraigned by you ; no — no — 
never by you. 

Adr. Am I not bound to hate the man who perse- 
cutes my mother ? 

3'Iad. To shun, but not to hate him. 
Adr, Your words confound me Oh, say, what 
dreadful mystery is woven with my fate ? 

Mad. Inquire not, and live happy. Ills without 
remedy, are best w^ithout a care. 

Adr My sjul cries out, and must be satisfied-— you 
possess the fatal secret. 

Mad, But never will divulge its nature. 
Adr, Gruel 

Mad, Ah, rather call me kind. Adrian, submit : 
your word is pledged ; and I exact the promise. 

Adr. It shall be performed. But oh, my heart sick 
ens at the thought ; must \ ?ose Orrila ? 

Mad, You will save a parent Come, prepare for 
our departure : a mom.ent's struggle and the sacrifice 
is pa^t. Safety and peace invite us hence ; ruin and 
despair av/ait us here ; the destroyer is at our gate • 
decide to fly, or perish. [eieuiit 

END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



Act II] AND ORRILA 25 

A C T II. 

SCENE I — a terrace before the great gates of Rosen- 
heim castle — the domestics and peasants are ranged 
in lines on each side — haufroy, the old family 
minstrel^ is seated in fronts playing on the harp — 
LOTH A IRE and MINNA at his side. 

SONG — HAUFROY — and CHORUS. 

strike the harp, the chorus raise ; 
Sing our native chieftain's praise : 
Endless honors — deathless fame, 
Crown the lord of Rosenheim. 

Mighty line, whose source of old, 
Mixt with streams of royal blood ; 
All its sons were just and bold, 
All its daughters fair and good. 



Endless honors — deathless fame, 
Crown the lord of Rosenheim. 

count ROSENHEIM enters with prince altenburg, 
during the latter part of the chorus. 

Alt. I envy you, my dear count, the proud pleasure 
of a scene like this. Yours is indeed a home, where 
every living creature meets you with a smile. 

Ros. Ay, Altenburg, I was well nigh surfeited of 
smiles before we left court — for there, all faces wear 
them as a livery of office, never to be cast off, save 
when the chamberlain decrees a mourning : but here, 
the simple knaves have unsophisticated muscles ; and 
the feature alters even as the feeling varies ; believe 
me, I can appreciate the difference. 

enter OKRiLA, followed bi/ git ha, through the gate 
— she casts her eyes eagerly round, till they reach 
the count. 

Orr, Yes, tis he ! my heart at a single glance identi- 
C2 



1 



26 ADRIAN [Dimond 

fies his person — father, dear, dear father ; will you not 
bless your Orrila ? (throws herself rapturously on his 
neck) 

Ros. My Orrila ! what the little lass, whom I left 
scarce taller than my walking-stick, 

Gith. (pushing forward) Ay, your lordship finds 
her rarely grown ; but its all my doing. 

Orr: Ah, can you hesitate to believe ? does not your 
heart acknowledge rne for your child ? 

Ros Yes, with tenderness — with pride — though 
faith, a pleasant wonder mixt withal ; heaven bless 
you, my girl. 

Orr Oh, I have a world of words to utter ; a thou- 
sand things to relate, and yet a thousand to inquire — 
tell me if 

Ros Hush, hush, affection shall find its hour anon ; 
but the present moment, ceremony claims — let me 
present to prince Altenburg. the lady Orrila of Rosen- 
heim. 

jilt. Fair creature, while I imprint a stranger's fer- 
vent homage on your hand, say, may I hope your 
heart hereafter will receive me as a friend. 

Orr. It does already, sir! you are my father's friend, 
and must be mine — besides, though to my eye you of- 
fer now a stranger's form, yet has my ear been long 
familiar with your virtues. Often in this solitude have 
I heard your name, and the blessings of good men 
have always made it holy ; then do not v/onder if I 
treat you as an old acquaintance, for indeed I was 
your friend before you knew me ! 

Alt. Delightful, dangerous flattery! let me not listen 
to your voice, when belief seems arrogant ; and yet 
to doubt were worse than heresy ! 

Ros. My life upon't the girl speaks honestly — my 
letters, Orrila, had taught you how to estimate the 
prince's character. 

Orr. They prepared me, sir, to admire, respect, 
and love him. 

Alt» To love mC; Orrila ! (catches her hand eager- 
ly) 



Act II] AND ORRILA 27 

Orr. {loitk simplicity) Yes, like a second father ! 
(Altenburg drops her hand again with a mortified air) 
Ros. Ay, ay ! filial affection is the only sort of love 
my poor Orrila has yet been taught to comprehend, and 
she freely offers all she has the knowledge to bestow. 
Take her by the hand, Altenburg, 1 consign her to 
your care, (turning to the peasants) My friends, 
make merry ; let the flagon pass cheerly round, and 
pause not in the circle — my cellars have been crammed 
with too many vintages unproved ; they are ill of a 
plethora, and a plentiful bleeding will but mend their 
habit : fear not to offend with overmuch clamor : 1 
love the noise of mirth, and never complain of dis- 
cord in the voice, when 1 know that harmony attunes 
the heart. Lead to the saloon ! 

Vassals. Long live the lord of Rosenheim ! (Rosen- 
heim passes up the stage — Altenburg follows leading 
Orrila — the peasants ^c. bow as they enter the gate) 
Long live the lord of Rosenheim. 
(Haufroy, the bard, advances to the front of the stagey 
and the vassals form a group ar ound his fgure — 
two pages bear his harp) 
Hauf. Strike the wild harp anew ; strike cheerfully : 
And weave the sounding song of other times. 
Strike to the warrior's ghost of elder fame. 
Who now reclines upon the silver cloud, 
And list'ning haply to his warbling record, 
Bends his sacred brow to earth, and sweetly 

smiles : 
Awake my soul and trace the awful mould 
Of living heroes in the glorious dead ! 

SONG—HAUFROY, 

Our lion-hearted lords of yore 
From roman helms the laurel tore. 
With bosoms bare, they braved the war, 
Impell'd the spear, or whirl'd the car : 
Great Caesar paused in mid career. 
His eagle scream'd, a note of fear ; 
And trench 'd with gashes deep and wide. 



/^ 



«8 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Each dying hero sternly cried — 

*' Oh -native land ; I fall for ihee^ 

<' Thy shrines^ thy hearths, and liberty P 

Peace to the chiefs of other days ; 

The bardish dirge has suPig their praise ; 

The poor man's pray r and orphan's sigh, 

Have whisper'd their sweet elegy. 

Their forms are lost, their souls survive 

In sons the great forefathers live : 

And down the far stretch'd line we trace 

Theantient VIRTUE of the race. 

Still like the prophet's mantle given, 

Whene'er the sire was borne to heav'n. [exeunt 



SCENE II — a saloon in the castle, 
enter Rosenheim and githa. 

Gith, Yes, my lord, 1 promise you, the lady Orrila 
is a most accomplished damsel, fitted to reflect a grace 
upon any court in Christendom. 

Ros. Well said, old Githa ; let me find the girl's 
mind enriched, and I shan't regret that her father's 
pocket has been impoverished — but, faith, her educa- 
tion has cost me plaguy dear. 

Gith. Your lordship ordered me not to spare ex- 
pense, but to engage the most eminent instructors. 
Ros. I did so, but has Orrila proved an apt scholar ? 
Gith, In truth has she — in the first place, she is an 
absolute mistress of languages. 

Ros. Ay, that came naturally, for her mother had 
the gift of unlimited speech before her. 

Gith, Then she plays on the spinnet. dances miracu- 
lously, embroiders to a prodigy, and for her morals, I 
have formed them precisely after the model of my 
own, and I can defy satan to find a single flaw in the 
composition. 

Ros. But how has Orrila borne her long seclusion ? 
has no complaint ever escaped her lip ? no murmured 
wish for brighter scenes and pleasures of the world ? 



Act II] AND ORRILa S9 

Gith. None, my Jord ; the dear child has never 
seemed to think any pleasure could be found beyond 
the limits of this valley. No ; give her but my virtu- 
ous conversation, her books, and her Adrianahe world 
has no amusement left for her to desire. 

Ros. Adrian, Adrian ; pr'ythee what amusement is 
that ? 

Gith. Oh ; its a young man. Has your lordship 
forgotten him ? he is tlie son of madame Clermont, 
the widow gentlewoman, who lives at the white house, 

Ros. 1 recollect now ; a strange, mysterious woman, 
who came nobody knew whence, and belongs nobody 
knew to whom. Ay, and her child, a pretty, laugh 
ing, rosy cheeked lad — yes, yes, I remember him too, 
he was a play- fellow of Orriia's. Well, but Githa, 
that is an amusement my daughter must have lost long 

ago-. 

Gith. Oh, no ; the youth has remained in the valley 
ever since. 

Ros. But you have not suffered him to associate with 
my daughter ever since ? 

Gith, Certainly, I have. When your lordship was 
on the sj'Ot, you approved of the acquaintance 

Ros. Zounds ; w^oman, they were both chiidren at 
that time ; why, the boy was in petticoats ! 

Gith. Yes, but after he was breeched, my lady 
grew more partial to him than ever. So J could not 
And it in my heart to separate them. 

Ros. Then they have frequently been together of 
late? 

Gith. Not a day has passed without their meeting ; 
in tact they have never been asunder, except at meal- 
times and of nights. 

Ros. And you could perceive no impropriety in all 
this? 

Gith. Assuredly not, unless they had been quarrel- 
some indeed ; bat, heaven bless them, the good chil- 
dren were always of one mind, and seemed to love 
each other better than all the world beside. 

Ros, (passionately) Githa, Oitha ! you are an old fool 



so ADRIAN [Diraond 

Giik. My lord ! 

Ros. You, who I placed about my daughter, as an 
argu?, to — but get you gone, and send Orrila to me 
this instant. 

Git/i. iVIy lord, do but hear me. 

Ros, No, 1 have heard too much from you already ; 
be gone, f say. old crone, and send Orrila to me. 

Gitk. Well, I'm gone, my lord. Marry, come up, 
here's a coil and a stir without a reason ; a passionate, 
cross grained — ah, I wish he was at Dresden again, 
with all my soul ' [exit muttering to herself 

Ros. So — 1 had placed a notable dragon to guard 
my golden fruit — one, that suffers a venturous urchin 
to leap the orchard fence, unchecked, nay, climb over 
its very back, and plucti the apple while yet it is green 
upon the bough. Surely this stripHng cannot have 
dared ; Orriia's pride never could permit : no, no ; 
I alarm myself without a cause ; and the whole fact is, 
two young persons have continued to think like chil- 
dren, after they have ceased to appear so. 

enter altekburg. 

Alt. My friend ! I have seen your mansion, your 
gardens, your gallery of paintings, your collection of 
statues, and with all your inanimate valuables i am 
pleased, but with the living treasure, your lovely 
daughter, I am charmed ! 

Ros, Ay. though I am her father, Pll be bold to say, 
the girl may wear a coronet, and never shame its 
splendors by her face. Perhaps a little wildness min- 
gles with her manner, but that is a failing court exam- 
ples will soon correct. 

Alt, Heaven forbid : with me that very wildness 
bewitches even beyond her beauty — the pampered 
flower which art educes from a hot-house bed, may 
claim our wonder ; but far more fair and fragrant is 
the rose, that nature plants at random, bathes in her 
dews, and sweetens with her breath * 

Ro^, So then, my little Oriila has overcome a mighty 



Act III AND ORRILA 31 

statesman, with a single shaft from her black eyes ; you 
are in love already ? 

Jilt. Not quite so — in love I can never be, 

Hos. Heyday ! what sort of a suitor, then, is my 
daughter to expect ? 

Alt. Do not mistake me — I admire Orrila, and as 
my wife, shall cherish and respect her. But love, that 
wild, romantic passion, such as boys feel, and poets 
feign, I never can welcome to my breast again. Once 
I felt its sway ; felt it in all its fatal mad excess — I 
was its dupe, its slave, its victim ! ah, Rosenheim, 
light minds may love, lose, forget, and love again ; 
but the sensitive soul can make but one election, and 
then, or bliss or bane for ever stamps its choice. 

Ros. Nay, Altenburg ; be not too disconsolate a 
widower either, tis true your late princess was 
an amiable woman, but many years have elapsed since 
her loss ; besides, if report might be credited, your 
marriage in the first instance, was rather the effect of 
obedience than inclination 

Alt. I confess it. My deceased wife was not the 
object of my love^ neither is she now the cause of my 
regret. 

Ros. Then who, in the name of all enigmas, is, or 
was, the inamorata you bewail ? 

Alt. Never to mortal ear have I revealed the secret ; 
but our long friendship, and the close relationship in 
which we are soon to stand, now exacts from me a full 
and perfect confidence. Listen then, dear Rosenheim, 
to the brief confession of your friend, and learn the 
history of his love, his guilt, his shame ! at that peril- 
ous, yet careless period of existence, when the blood 
flows freshly through our veins, and our pulses leap, 
delighted, under each new touch ; when we are liber- 
tines, rather through constitution than from vice, it 
was my chance or destiny, to meet a lovely girl, who 
caught at once my roving heart, and fixed the incon- 
stant for ever in her toils. She was an orphan, of a 
good family, but slender fortune ; her person was ex- 
quisite, and her age sixteen. Accident favored me 



32 ADRIAN [Dimoni 

with perpetual opportunities, and my passion was soon 
returned with an ardor equal to its own Oh, let me 
hurry over the accusing retrospect : I cannot dilate 
upon my own enormity ; in a word, then, I vowed 
and was forsworn ; she trusted and was deceived. 

Ros. Umph ; you betrayed this innocent ? 

AU, Ay, like a villain betrayed the guileless, unsus- 
pecting heart, that knew not treachery itself, and 
deemed all natures pure and open as its own. A child, 
a nameless child, was born amidst its mother's tears 
and blushes. Still I continued to promise reparation, 
and still delayed it, when a marriage was proposed to 
me by my family, with one of the richest heiresses in 
Saxony. At first, conscience started, and I refused 
compliance ; bat my relatives insisted, nay, threatened 
disinheritance, and I — oh, disgraceful coward ; I fear- 
ed to meet poverty rather than dishonor. My career 
of crime was soon consummated, and at the altar of 
insulted deity, I pledged to another those vows which 
were the rightful attributes of her I had betrayed. 

Ros. Did you then abandon this poor unfortunate, 
with her infant to the precarious mercy of the world, 
without protection or support ? 

Alt. No, Rosenheim, think me not yet a wretch so 
monstrous. Immediately I offered independence, nay 
affluence, as an atonement for her v/rongs. 

Ros, Did she accept the compromise ? 

Alt. She spurned both it and me : my splendid 
bribes were trampled under her feet in scorn ; and, un- 
known to all, with her infant in her arms, she suddenly 
quitted her abode, nor deigned to leave one poor fare- 
well behind. Twenty years have rolled a^vay since her 
departure — and from that moment, to the present, no 
tidings, either of mother or of child, have reacht my 
ear. 

Ros Poor souls, poor souls. 

Alt, Eternal justice soon avenged their wrongs on 
rae and mine. Death, prematurely called my princess ; 
and her son, the only issue of our marriage, and the 
sole fond hope of two noble families, whi!e yet an in 



Act II] AND ORRILA 33 

fant, perished in the Elbe ; his floating garments only 
were recovered from the stream. Deep at the river's 
tangled roots my boy lies buried ; no decent sepul- 
chre allowed his form, bul fleeting ideas his only mon- 
ument. Dreadful retribution — time has cicatrized, 
but cannot heal my wounds ; then cease to wonder, 
if a heart, which lives to sorrow, should be dead to 
love. 

Ros. Well, well, but let me understand you; did 
you not first propose to me this marriage with my 
daughter ; and are you not come here for the express 
purpose of 

J/t. Yes. my good friend, yes. Public duties should 
be paramount to private feelings : the name of Alten- 
burg has been transmitted to me from a line of he- 
roes ; their treasures have been wasted to support its 
consequence, and their blood has flowed to preserve 
its honor ; such a bequest is a sacred charge, and I 
must not suffer it to sink with me into obHvious dust 
unclaimed. Vou, Rosenheim, have been my tried and 
trusted friend, and from your hand it is, 1 wish to re- 
ceive a second wife. Offer, for me, then to OrriJa, all 
1 have left to give, my title, fortune, and entire es- 
teem — if the lovely maid accepts — 

Ros. (eagerly) Never talk of ifs ; there's my h&nd 
that is a contract for my daughter's. I hear her com- 
ing — suppose you acquaint her with your intentions 
at once ? 

JlL No. no, I have been so long out of the habit of 
making love, I should blunder abominably, if taken by 
surprize. Could not you break the business for me, 
and preserve me from the awkwardness of a regular, 
formal declaration ? 

Ros. What, you who have treated of peace or 
war, with the representatives of kings, to shrink 
from the simple question of matrimony with a green 
girl ? 

Alt. Ay, and with reason ; for let me tell you, the 
difference between sixteen and forty five, requires 
more nicer adjudgment, than many disputes of em- 



34 ADRIAN [Dimond 

pire. Your falconers are jusl sallying from the court- 
yard — I'll accompany them for an hour's sport, and 
you can employ the interval to my advantage with 
your daughter. 

Ro.< Weil, be it so ; but I warrant you, my little 
Orrila 

Ali. Hush, she is here. 

enttr orrila. 

Orr. Dear sir, Githa said you had inquired for me* 

Ros, Right, my girl, come hither. 

Alt. Now, count, that you are provided with better 
company, I will release you from mine. 

Orr, Will you leave us, sir ? 

AlU Ah, how swiftly to return, if Orrila regret my 
absence. 

Orr. Are you for the hawks, sir? sure tis a cruel 
sport. 

Alt. Yet destruction is the work of gentle spirits, as 
often as of ruder souls : abroad, I hunt poor birds into 
the toil ; here., the graces weave a net for mortals, and 
I tremble for myself. [bows ^ exits 

Orr. If I did not know the prince to be my father's 
friend, I should consider him the daughter's enemy, for, 
indeed, he has paid me so many compliments, that, had 
I believed him, would have made me a sad, vain girl. 

Ros. Ha, ha, you like him the better for it. A wo- 
man never quarrels with flattery in her heart. Own 
the truth, now, Orrila, dont you like the prince exces- 
sively ? 

Orr. Yes, indeed, I think I do. But I am not sor- 
ry he has left us now, because I wanted to talk with 
you on a number of interesting topics. In the first 
place, I must tell you, your old favorite, Adrian, will 
dine with us : I have invited him. 

Ros. Umph. 

Orr, I knew you would be rejoiced to see him ; but 
I am sure you will be surprised, too ; for he has grown 
so tall, and so handsome ; then, he has acquired so 
many accompUshments 



Act II] AND ORRILA SS 

Ros. (icstUy) Curse his accomplishments. 

Orr. Sir ! 

Ros. Pshaw, let the boy, Adrian and his catalogue 
of merits, be canvassed with dame Githa, and the gos- 
sips of the buttery ; your fathers attention requires a 
theme somewhat more exalted. Tell me, Orrila. seri- 
ously, and from the heart— what are your sentiments 
towards prince Aitenburg? 

Orr. Such as, \ trust, become the daughter of his 
friend — respect — esteem. 

Ros. Well answered. What think you of his per- 
son ? 

Orr, Commanding, yet prepossessing. 

Ros. Good again ! and of his manners ? 

Orr. All that 1 could wish, and more than I could 
imitate. 

Ros. Right, very right, my girl. Odd's life, I am 
so pleased with your good sense — but it shall be reward- 
ed — learn, my d>^ar Orrila. 1 tell it you wi^h a proud 
heart — learn, that prince Altenburg destines you to be- 
come his wife. 

Orr. Father. 

Ros. Yes, to wear the most ennobled coronet of 
Dresden's court, to take precedence of all our saxon 
dames ; to fill your father's soul with triumph, and the 
hearts of half the world with envy 

Orr, It cannot be, sir — indeed, it carjnot. 

Ros. Kay, I am not jesting ; on my life tis true ; I 
dont deceive ycu. 

Orr. Ah, then you deceive 3'ourself: oh, sir, spare 
me, forgive me ; but, indeed, I cannot marry A.lten- 
burg 

Ros Orrila, pooh, old Githa has been telling you^ 
that girls ought to refuse what they desire, at first., for 
an appearance of decorurii ; but here such coyness 
would be idle ; prove yourself therefore, sensible of 
the honor conferred upon yrur family, and receive the 
prince, on his return, as your future husband. 

Orr Ought we not to love before we marry ? 

Ros, Well, you do love him, or at least, you will ; 



36 ADRIAN [Dimond 

with his external requisites you confess yourself satis- 
fied, and lor tue qualities of his head and heart, I dare 
vouch to you. Faich, [ ought to know them — I have 
been the companion of his youth. 

Orr. Ah, but l must be the companion of his age. 

Ros. Pshaw, the diiference of a score of years is im- 
material — the forest tree attains its full growth, before 
the woodbine is twisted round its trunk, yet we behold 
the two adhere right lovingly, enjoy the same sun beam, 
and bend together in the storm. But in short, my girl, 
the match is fixt — the settlements ware completed be- 
fore we left Df-esden ; and. as the prince's absence from 
court cannot be prolonged, on this day week he will 
lead you to the altar 

Orr, (casting herself on her knee) Father, father, 
have mercy on your child 

Ros, Mercy— how or where is it required? 

Orr. As I have a soul — so truly, that soul consents 
not to this marriage. 

Ros. Orrila, have a care — you are my only child, 
and f would fain prove to you an indulgent father — 
but. beware how you provoke me on a point like this. 

Orr. V^our commands will kill me 

Ros. Ha ! a suspicion — a terrible one, glances on 
my mind— heaven forefend it be true. Answer me, 
Orrila, can it be possible that you love another ? 

Orr. (trembling) Ah, sir, whom i^houid I love — no 
man has ever yet addressed me as a lover. 

Ros. Tis well, for his own sake, no insolent has 
dared — then mark me, young lady — it is my command 
— a father's command — that these mawkish scruples be 
dismissed in silence and that Altcnburg receive an un- 
reluctant hand— a word further, let me hear no more 
of your visits to madame Clermont —all intimacy be- 
tween you from this period must cease. 

Orr. Cease, sir ! 

Ros. I have spoken it : with her and with all hex fa- 
mily. Now. Orrila, you fully know wy pleasure and 
your own duty, [exit 

Orr. (after a pause) Do I wake ? or is it but a 



Act II] AND ORRILA S7 

dream, a false, frightful dream, that woUld abuse my 
senses? but one little hour ago, and 1 was happiest of 
the happy — I wished not, feared not; my world was 
in my compass, and 1 could proudly have said to fate, 
*' tyrant of others, Orrila defies Ihee." Now, all is 
changed, all faded, all destroyed ! Adrian, Adrian ! how 
my hiart rives at that name! am I commanded not to 
see him — uh, wherefore then should day hght visit these 
eyes again ? day-light, less longed for and less wel- 
come than the sight of Adrian ! 

enter lothaire. 

Loth. Lady Orrila, may I approach you ? 
Orr Lothaire ! what would you with me, boy ? 
Loth, (aside with sj.leen) Boy! always boy! I 
bring you a letter, sweet ladv ; I took it from a peas- 
ant at the castle-gate, (presents a billet) What a 
beautiful white hand she has ! 

Orr. Ah, tis Adrian's writing — (she unfolds it ea- 
gerly) 

" Pardon, dear Orrila, the strange abruptness of this 
" note — tis traced by a trembling hand, and dicta- 
" ted by a distracted heart In a few hours, I am 
^' detined tp leave the valley, you, and every thing 
*' my soul prizes. I am forbidden to visit the cas- 
*' tie ; bqt madness will be my fate, unless I see you 
" before my eparture. Come to us, then, though 
" but for a moment, and eternally shall your name 
" be blest by '* Adrian." 

Then, at the same dark hour we are both assailed by 
fortune, and both condemned to suffer 

Loth. Lady, I pray be not offended — I would not 
presume, indeed 1 would not for the world ; but you 
look distressed, and, if so poor a youth as Lothaire 
could do you aught of service, twould be his honor, his 
delight ! ah, I see you weep ; heavy tears roll down 
your cheek — I cannot bear the sight — oh, lady, on my 
knee, I pray you to command me ; I'll be faithful to 
you ever ; in truth I will. 

Qrr. Alas, you cannot serve me— this cruel letter-^ 
D2 



J 



38 ADRI\N [Dimo 

Loth, I know it, lady, it comes from 'mr. Adrian ; 
perhaps you wish to see each other, and perhaps, J beg 
pardon ; but perhaps, my lord, the count, objects to 
such a meeting. 

Ott. I am indeed forbidden to approach his jbouse, 
and yet, to refuse the reqjest of Adrian, perljlips his 
last request — ah, what a dreadful thought. ? 

Loth. There is a mean still left, lady ; though you 
may not see mr. Adrian at his own house, you can 
meet him at another person's ; and if you wohld honor 
the cottage of my sister Minna a visit, I am sure the 
count would never learn a syHable of the matter. 

Orr, But even now, Adrian may expect me in the 
valley. ^ 

Loth, Write but a line to declare you|* pleasure, and 
swift as summer's lightning, your trusfy courier shall 
fly to place the billet in his hands. } 

Orr, You are very kind, Lothaire, Aut 1 would not 
trouble you. 

Loih, Ah, mock me not with such a word ; a lady's 
errands are a page's honors Fortune denies the glo- 
rious laurel to my youth, but beauty's hand bestows a 
roseate wreath as dear to my ambition. Grant but 
Lothaire the precious boast, to brush from sparkling 
eyes one envious tear, and circle with a smile vermilion 
lips, oh, he would pace it barefoot to the antipodes, or 
swim wide ocean through the storms of night ! 

Orr. Yours is a heart, Lothaire, where even trai- 
tors might confide. Come to my chamber then, good 
fellow, some few minutes hence, and I will charge you 
with a message — how my veins freeze and boil by 
turns — father, father ; oh, cruel fate ; why must I trem- 
ble at a name so sacred ? [exit Orrila 
Loth, I'm a man — I'm trusted with a lady's secrets, 
and that lady is the fairest and discreetest of her sex — 
yes, I feel it, 1 know it, from this moment, I'm a man, 
a real proper man, and henceforward, if any person 
calls me boy, faith, Til flout the varlet rarely ; oh, how 
I long for some adventure; my spirit is of the true 
cliivalrous stamp, and, had I lived in the days of Ama- 



I 



lActll] AND ORRILA 39 

dis de Gaul, I'm sare 1 should have been recorded as 
a preux chevalier — enchanted castles should have been 
sLonnijd , black giants and yellovv dwarfs overlhrown — 
captive damsels delivered from ignoble thraldorn ; and 
then, at tournaments foremost would i have Hung my 
gage, defied some haughiy saracen to arms, and pro- 
ved, upon tne pagan s vanquished crest, " my lady 
love, the fairest of the fair !'' 

SONG — LOTHAIRE. 

Gaily, gaily, gaily ! 
To break a lance at tourney fight, 
On prancing steed each gallant knight 
By sunbeam red, or m-onshme v^hite, 

At honor's call would fiy ! 

Gaily, gaily, gaily ! 
Around the ring, on rising seats, 
A crowd of rival beauty meets, 
In radiant pomp, to mark the feats 

Of love and chivalry ! 

Cheerly, cheerly, cheerly ! 
The barriers close, the trumpets sound; 
The neighing coursers forward bound, 
And toss their manes, and paw tlie ground^ 
Impatient of delay. 

Cheerly, cheerly, clieerly ! 
Now knights to deadly challenge rush, 
And lances shiver, bucklers crush, 
Through batter'd mail red life drops gush, 
O Jove, how fierce the fray ! 

Hurra, hurra, hurra! 
The pagan falls ; he bites the dust : 
N^ more in war or mimic joust 
To cope with knight of holier trust — 
What shouts assail the sky T 



1 



40 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Hurra, hurra, hurra ! 
The victor kneels to claim the prize. 
But while he kneels with love he sighs, 
And seeks in beauty's melting eyes 

His boon of victory ! [exit 

END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



ACT HI, 

SCENE I — the borders of a wood. 

enter Adrian. 

Adr. The noon day sun scorches me to madness ; 
will not the thick gloom of forests screen me from its 
rage ? ah, no, no, tis an inward heat that withers me, 
tis in my brain ; my beating, bursting brain ; fever of 
despair ; o'erarching woodlands weave no saving shade 
for thee : 1 have wandered wildly, and without a bias 
for my course, but Til remain upon this spot, whither 
chance has led me ; for tis by this path my messen- 
ger must return. 1 may learn my destiny a few min- 
utes earlier, and news of Orrila seems at this instant 
all the purpose of my life. 

^the music and the wild cries of the falconers sound 
without) 

enter michael. 

Mich. O, the fine hawks, the rare hawks ; at last, 
then, 1 shall see the prince : but how shall 1 know his 
person from those of the gentlemen about him ? ah, 
doubtless by an air of superior dignity ; just such an 
air as distinguishes me from the rest of our villagers. 
Ah, mr. Adrian ; who could have thought to meet 
you here ? belike we are both in the wood for the 
same purpose— do you come here for a sight of him 
also ? 

Adr. Him ; whom mean you ? 



Act III] AND ORRILA 4J 

Mich, Why, the great man, to be sure : his excel- 
lency, prince Altenburg, 

Adr. No, no, I seek not princes. 

Mich. Then y( u saw him this morning, I presume. 
Indeed, so did every body except my belt'; by whom 
it was most iiiatedal he should have been seen I 
had planned a noble speech, wh rewith to compli- 
ment his arrival : but, while 1 was practising ii in 
the cellar, for my wife always makes me practise in 
the dark, his excellency came una wares M> vil- 
lanous neighbors ran to meet him without telling 
me : and, just when 1 had got perfect in my words, 
1 found they must remain xmh^^ard, and that all the 
ceremon)? had been finished an hour before hai?d. — 
However, he is in the forest now ; and if I can only 
meet him, Til take care so clever an oration shan't 
be lost, Mr. Adrian, you are a judge of language — 
I should like to rehearse my speech before you. 

Adr. Hence, gadfly, and buz ih}' fiip[;ant plague in 
ether ears— mine are already stung ! 

M^ch. There now , nobody can give me a civil 
word, its very strange ; i am polile to every body, 
yet every body is rude ^o me. {mu^ic without again) 
Hark, the merry fa]cone:s draw near ; now, if 1 
could come upon the pnnce, by surprise as it were, 
and flir-g myself before him in an attitude, then 

address him '* oh, wise and magnanimous Aiten- 

buig !" 

Adr, Peace, trifler ; and torture me no more with 
that accursed name. 

Mich. Oh, fye ; curse the name of prince Alten- 
burg — that is a sort of petty treason. He's a noble- 
man, a mmisterof state ; and, above all, he's lit e y to 
be your future lord ; for I can assure you, mr. Adrian, 
from undoubted authority, he is to marry lady Omla 
next week. 

Adr. ( starting frantickly)hm]\ detested liar; swear 
to me this instant, ihai your words v\'ert' falsr. ; swear 
it, or these hands shall tear the slanderous heart out 
that devised the tale, {seizes upon Michael) 



43 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Mich, Oh, mercy, mercy, mr. Adrkn, I shall be 
throttled. 

Adr, Speak, wretch, speak, to save yourself and 
me ! 

Mich, Then take your hands from my throat— ugh, 
i3gh ; indeed then, and upon my faith, I've heard the 
story from fifty people. Its a known fact at the 
castle, all the servants talk of it. 

Adr, (faintly) Away ; not a breath more ; — 
but hence, bofore my rage quite conquers reason- 
hence, hence. 

Mich. Ay, and willingly. Fd as lief converse 
tete-a-tete with one of the bears in the forest. Such a 
hug ; oh, 1 shall carry a stiff neck for a month, [exii 

Adv. What means this fearful uproar of the mind ? 
it seems, as if, at once, memory restored forgotten im- 
ages, while fancy quickens all her embryo's into life^- 
the past, the present, and the future, ail mix, confuse, 
and jar upon my brain together, like the chafed circle 
of a vvhirlpool's maze — thoughts, in cross-setting ed- 
dies, battle to destroy, and hurry reason down a 
frightful gulf. 

(BWfer LOTH AIRE. 

Loth, If eyes cheat not, yonder stands my man. — 
Your servant, gentle sir; I would exchange a word 
with you. 

Adr, Trouble me not ; but pr'ythee pass, good boy. 

Loth Boy again ; shall i n^ver be called a man ? 
how provoking ; ah, if you could guess who sent me, 
you scarce would think it trouble to inquire my er- 
rand. The messengers of lady Orrila are seldom 
slighted. 

Adr. Orrila, say you ? be swift, kind youth, and 
tell me of that name. 

Loth, 1 could prattle till doomsday on so fair a 
theme ; but happily the lady's hand wiil please you 
better than her page's tongue, (gives a billet) 

Adr. A thousand blessings on the precious gift 
iread^) 



Act III] AND ORRILA 43 

Loth. How his eyes dart fire as they read ; what 
a head for a helmet : oh, I wish he had been a knight- 
errant two centuries ago, and I his esquire, 

Adr. An hour hence, at Minna's cottage ; such is 
the api^ointment. 

Loth. Yes, sir, Minna is my sister, and under her 
roof the lady Orrila can meet you unobserved. 

Adr, One lin^ has saved me from despair ; 1 shall 
see hor face, and hear her voice once more, [exit 

Loth. Umph : I think my gentleman might have 
spared an odd word for thanks ; but his raptures only 
shine forth, while his good manners are put under an 
edipse. Lady Orrila calls this tempest of passions 
merely friendship. Well, if friendship be so violent 
in this valley, love here must surely prove a terrible 
disorder ; whilst I tarry in it, kind stars, shield me 
from cupid's archery. 

enter michael, running in excessive fright. 

Loth. Holla ! man — whither so fast ? 

Mich, Oh ! brother in law ! is it you ? dent stop 
me, I pray. 

Loth, What do you run for ? 

Mich, To save my neck from a halter. If I'm taken, 
I shall be hanged, drawn, and quartered. 

Loth. Hey ! what notable job have you done now? 

Mich, Oh ! my dear brother-in law, one that I 
fear will prove mj finishing job. You must know, 
I came into the wood on purpose to meet the prince, 
and deliver my oration to him. At last, I caught 
sight of his excellency. He was all alone, his horse 
walking quite leisurely along, and he sitting, as it 
were, in a brown study. 1 thought it a glorious op- 
portunity. So I hid myself behind a great tree, and 
just as he was passing, flung myself all of a sudden 
before him, in one of my grecian attitudes. When 
lo ! and behold, the silly beast of a horse no sooner 
looked up in my face, than he gave a great plunge, and 
took fright. Nay, I believe the prince himself was 
frightened teo ; for he dropped Vha bridle out of 



44 ADRIAN [Dimond 

his hands — I halloed and shouted, like mad, to stop 
the horse, bat the piaguv animal only galloped the 
faster, and away it went over hedges and ditches, with 
his poor dear excellency clinging to the pummel of 
the saddle 

Loth Unlucky wretch ! why, the prince may get 
killed. 

Mich. That's my only chance — if h*^ breaks his 
neck, mine will escape twisting, for nobody saw me at 
the time ; and I dare say. he wilf break it, for I left 
the horse making towards the precipice. 

Loth. Heaven's and earth ! this instant let me 
fly to the spot. Follow me, thou mischief making 
knave, or Til turn informer, against thee myself^ 
and have thee hanged upon the highest tree in the 
forest, as a common scarecrow Follow me. {exeunt 



SCENE III — another part of the wood— the noise of \ 
falconers sounds at a distance. 

enter Adrian leading alt en burg. 

Adr. You have received no injury, I trust, sir. 

Alt None, my bones have been well ^haken, but 
they have escaped fractures — thanks to providence, . 
and you its agent My brave youth, I owe my life to j 
you, another instant and the terrified animal would i 
have carried me over the precipice. 

Adr. Tis the first occasion fortune ever granted \ 
me to be useful in society, and I shall cherish its recol- j 
lection with delight. Can J, sir, afford you any fur- 
ther service ? 

Alt. Yes, acquaint me how I may best acknowledge 
to you the debt I never can discharge. 

Adr. If you mean the simple action I have just per- 
formed, I claim no merit from it, and i desire no 
thanks. 

Alt. Still, young sir, you must consent to re- 
ceive them ; the gratitude I feel, I must be allow- . 
ed to express ; other wite, you will have saved rae 



Act III] AND ORRILA 45 

by your courage, only to afflict me through your 
pride. 

Adr. Indeed, you over rate my service. To see 
your danger, and to prevent it, was with me simply 
the effect of impulse 

Alt As impulse then, be it greeted Modesty has 
its own language, and writes of itself in lemon juice — 
but gratitude always should have warmth enough to 
draw the latent cyphers forth, and translate them 
for the world, in stronger characters. Give me your 
hand, young man — say, shall this pressure be the 
pledge of friendship between us ? 

Adr Inviolably so ; if you, sir, can vouchsafe to 
exchange regard with one so lowly. 

Alt. Whatever be your rank, from this moment I 
take your fortunes under my own special care ; 
nor shall you blush to own the patron you hate 
chosen ; for know, in Saxony's extended realm, 
next to her sovereign the greatest name— is Alten- 
burg ! 

Adr. (starting^ and tearing away his hand) Al* 
ienhurg ! 

Alt. Ay, the prince of Altenburg. 
Adr, Broken be our bond of friendship, ere the breath 
dries that was its seal. 

Alt. How ! am I known to you ? 

Adr. Yes, prince — to be shunned for ever, {going) 

Alt. Stay, rash youth, stay, and explain this rid- 
dle 

Adr. Seek its solution from some other lip ; curses 
would blister mine should I reply. Let mountains 
rise, and billows flow between us in eternal barrier ! 
tis the voice of fate that wills it, and now we part 
for ever. [exit rapidly 

Alt. Amazement ! I heard him, distinetly heard 
him, yet now I could disbelieve my very senses, and 
think the whole adventure but a waking dream. — 
Mysterious, inexplicable youth ! he has insulted, 
and spurned my friendship, yet would I pursue 
])im with its kindest offices : a sentiment till nov.' 
E 



46 ADRIAN [Dimond 

unfelt, softens my heart towards him, and even 
while his eyes and lips darted scorn, a something 
in the look and voice, like magic, subdued my pride, ^ 
and changed resentment into mournful wonder. 

{cries of falconers— enter Lothaire, and several ] 

of the train) 
Loth, (running forward) Ah ! my lord, you have 

been in danger 

Alt, But am found in safety. Did not a young nian 
this instant pass you? he took the path through which 
you reached me. 

Loth, Yes, my lord, he rushed along like light- 
ning' 

Alt. Was he known to you ? 
Loth. Perfectly ; tvvas mr. Adrian, the son of mad- 
am Clermont. . ^ ^ m 
Alt Clermont, Clermont! that name is not famil- 
iar to me. Where does he reside ? 

Loth. In the valley here, hard by, with his mother, 
a widow lady. 

Alt. Instantly conduct me to the house. I will see 
this mother; my curiosity is roused, and must be satis- 
fied at once. Lothaire, lead the way. lexeuvd 



SCEKE w— madam clermont's house, 
enter madam and Leopold. 

Mad, Are you positive the carriage will arrive in 

time. 

Leo, An please you, madam, the master of the 
posthouse promised to send it for you a little after sun 
set ; twas your own desire I should not bespeak it ear- 
lier. 

Mad, True, the villagers will not have quitted their 
labors before that hour, and I wish my departure to 
escape their notice. How far can I travel before day- 
break ? 

Leo, Some ten or dozen leagues, perhaps. 



Act III] AND ORRILA 47 

' Mad. Oh, further, good Leopold, much further, I 
shall not delay at inns. 

Leo But you needs must bait for meals and rest. 

Mad. No, Leopold, no rest for me ; sleep will not 
close these eyes, or hush this heart, till we have passed 
the saxon frontier, {a knocking at the outward gate) 
Hark I looli to the door ; haply tis lady Orrila 

lexU Leopold 
I know poor Adrian has written to her, and the gen- 
tle maid would scarcely suffer us to depart without 
" farewell." 

re enter Leopold. 

Leo. Tis a strange gentleman, madam, who asks to 
see you. 

Mad. A stranger ! I cannot receive hirn, 
Leo. An p'ease you, I told him yoru were here, and 
he is in the house already. 

Mad. VVell^ if it must be, conduct the stranger to 
me lexii Leopold] Whom can it be? I cannot re- 
member any person whose business leads him hither. 
JU, (speaking without) Let my attendants return 
to the castle. 

3Iad. (shrieking) Ah ! that voice ; tis thunder to 
my soul ; earth open ; bury me in thy centre, and hide 
m£ from the dreadful one ; he comes ; I h^ar his step 
— that well known step ~I cannot fly I sustain me— 
save me — heaven. 

(she draws the long flowing veil., that is fastened in 
her hair^ hastily before her features, and trem- 
blings leans for support against a chair) 

enter alt en burg. 

(Me prince bows on his entrance respectfully to mad- 
am ^ zchose tottering limbs with difficulty return the 
co:npUmenl) 

Alt. I know not, madam, how lean properly apolo- 
gize to you, for this abrupt intrusion of a stranger ; but 
I am inclined to hope, youv courtesy will afford me 
that excuse, which 1 confess my own invention is at a 



^ ADRIAN [Dimond 

loss to offer, (he pauses for an instant^ as if for an 
answer, and then proceeds) Although this visit may, 
in itself, appear impertinent, I protest to you, madam, 
the motives which have led me hither are pure and 
l>onorable Accident, or rather providence, has this 
morning introduced me to your son. {madam s/iud- 
ders, and grasps the chair convulsively) My life was 
i-n danger ; an unruly horse had borne me to the edge 
of a frightful precipice, and was about to leap into the 
gulf; your son appeared, and, at the hazard of his 
own life, cast himself between the desperate animal 
and the abyss. The bold effort saved a fellow crea- 
ture, and I owe to his bravery, ray existence at the 
present moment, (madam clasps her hands, and rai- 
ses them to heaven) 1 feel pe, plexed, when 1 would re- 
late what followed. Surely, some strange mistake in 
the name must have caused his conduct ; but, scarce- 
ly had 1 announced myself to my deliverer, as the 
prince of Altenburg, than he rejected my proffered 
friendship with disdain ; denied ail explanation of his 
motives, and quitted me as the direst of his foes. But 
already ! have forgotten the rudeness, and only wish to 
remember the obligation. Allow me, madam, to hope, 
through your explanation, that your son's harsh opinion 
of me may be converted to more kindly sentiments, 
and my character appear to him in its real light. 

{madam advances a step, and appears on the point of 
speaking y h^'t emotion stifles her utterance^ and she 
turns away again) 

Heavens ! her face averted, as if in scorn ; (aside) mad- 
am, I fear this determined silence cannot be construed 
otherwise, than as a proof of your aversion, and too prob- 
ably, tis by the mother's precept the son has been taught 
to hate me ; well, madam, if I may not win your es- 
teem, at least permit me to retain my own, and perform 
the common duties gratitude exacts. Merit, in this 
hard world, does not always achieve its own reward, 
and should your son ever require another support, 1 en- 
treat you, madam, let him command my influence m 



Act II rj AND ORRILA 49 

liis own ; I swear to recognize his claim and serve his 
interests with di father'' s care. 

{madam^ no longer mistress of her feelings, hursts 
into an agony of tenrs^ and falls into the chair by 
zch'fch she has been before supported) 

Merciful powers, whence this a2:itation ? oh ! madam, 
I conjure you speak. Tell me in what I have offend- 
ed, and how I may atone ! 

[he approaches and attempts to take the hand which 
hangs next to him over the chair, but she recoils 
from his touch, and motions him peremptorily to 
zcithdraxo zcith one hand, while, with the other, she 
draws the veil still closer that conceals her face] 

I perceive too plainly, I am indeed the object of your 
haired, and I will not disquiet you longer with my pres- 
ence. How 1 have incurred this resentment, heaven 
knows, I am unconscious. In the administration of 
government, perhaps 1 have unwittingly offended many 
persons ; for a man in office is too frequently judged 
by the splendor of success, rather than the virtue of in- 
tention ; each refused favor creates an enemy, and he 
is always supposed to injure when he cannot serve. If, 
madam, by any chance I have wronged either you or 
your family, I sincerely regret the offence, and, had 
I been permitted, would gladly have repaired it. But, 
denied as I am, either to refute or to atone, I have on'y 
to assert, and conscience proudly sanctifies my words., 
wilful injustice never yet disgraced the name of Al- 
tenburg. [exit 

Mad. {after a pause of violent emotioji) Surely the 
bitterness of expiation is now past, and fate con not 
have in store another trial like to this. Forbid it, oh ! in 
mercy, or my torn heart will break in the endurance. 
After twenty years of sullen calm, the storm returns 
with tenfold terrors. Yes, we have beheld each other 
once again — but, ah! no lingering intelligence of love 
whispered Matilda-s presence to the heart of Altenburg. 
Oh, time, time ! how must thou have changed me, 
E 2 



50 ADRIAN [Dimond 

when a linn disguise could hide me from that familiar 
eye Altenburg and Adrian then have met. The two 
persons whom a frail mortal has labored for years to 
keep asunder, heaven's justice has in a moment brought 
together. Yes, I feel it, I acknowledge it, to be the 
work of heaven. What then am 1, who dare to thwart 
omnipotence ? terrible inquiry ! let me not think, for 
thought in guilty minds, breeds madness, I cannot, 
no, no — I cannot, give him up, he is my single joy in 
life, my soul feeds on his looks, and only with my last 
mortal sigh will I resign him. (rings a bell) 

enter Leopold. 

Mad, Leopold ! where is my son ? 

Leo. 1 saw him walk forth toward the wood w 
hour ago, and he is not yet returned. 

Mad. Still absent — should they meet again ! fly, 
Leopold, and seek him. 

Leo. Nay, madam, you cannot spare me now from 
home, you want a thousand things to be prepared a- 
gainst the evening. 

Mad. I only want my child — search the wood— the 
village — every where, till you have found him. 

[exit Leopold 
To the world's end I'll fly, and bear him with me, 
dear injured boy ! idol of my love, yet victim of my 
vengeance. Once passed the saxon confine, my 
terrors will in part subside — farev/ell ! my simple 
home — a long — perchance, a last fare^vell. The sun 
already crimsons your casements with declining 
ray, and, ere the yellow moon beam sheds there 
its softer light, far hence, a wandering alien, must 
your mistress rove. Driven by destiny, through un- 
known climes I seek a resting place ; but, ah ! I fear 
me, like the poor assyrian dove, sent forth o'er bound- 
less waters to discover land, my desolate soul will 
circle widely for a perch in vain, and often murmur 
on its weary wing, ^^ ah ! for the sheltering bourne, 
I left behind !" ^exit 

END OF THE THIRD ACT. 



ActlVJ ANDORRILA SI 

A C T IV, 

SCENE i^the valley, 

enter mi^n a from her cottage, 

Min, {looking towards the ynountain) No per- 
son is as yet within sight, yet mr. Adrian insists it 
is the time. Poor young gentleman, how swift a 
change can a sad heart work on a strong form ! I 
protest, when I look at his fine, handsome face, so 
palely overcast with sorrow, and listen to the piteous 
sighs drawn from his heart, I am made quite melan- 
choly. I fear me too all is not well with lady Orrila — 
ah ! count Rosenheim must be a merciless man, to 
send asunder two fond hearts, which love had woven 
into one. 

BALLAD — MINNA. 

On one parent stalk, two white roses were growing, 

From buds just unfolded, and lovely to view ; 
Together they bloom'd, with the same sun-beam 
glowmg. 

And anointed at night by the same balmy dew. 
A spoiler beheld the fair twins, and, unsparing. 

Tore one from the stem, like a gay victim drest, 
Then left its companion — his prize proudly bearing, 

To blush for an hour, ere it died on his breast. 
But, ah I for the widow'd one — shrivell'd and yellow, 

Its sleek silver leaves lost their delicate hue : 
It sicken'd in thought — pined to death for its fellow, 

Rejected the sun-beam, and shrank from the dew. 
Then where ruthless spoiler ! ah, where is thy glory ? 

Two flowers strewn in dust that might sweetly have 
bloomed, 
A tomb is the record which tells thy proud story, 

Where beauty and love are untimely consumed. 

ORRILA appears on the bridge led by lothaire* 
Loth, Look, lady ! we have reached the cottage. 



S2 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Mm. The saints be praised, the long expected have 
arrived at last. 

Orr. {running eagerly forzoard) Ah ! I do not see 
him — Minna, have I not been inquired for ? has no 
person passed this way ? 

Min. (significant I y) Only one, my lady, and he is 
now within the cottage. In truth, a mournful tenant, 
but this tap shall be the signal of comfort to him 

[strikes on the door) 

Loth. Minna ! 

(he beckons to 3Iinna aside, and she retires with 
him behind the cottage) 

Orr. Ah ! he comes : for the first time the approach 
of Adrian seems terrible to me. 

(ADRIAN rushes from the cottage, but suddenly he 
pauses, when opposite to Orrila — his eyes become 
fixed upon her for a moment in silence, and then 
are dropt to the earth with an expression of des- 
pair) 

Orr. (faintly) Adrian ! will you not speak to 
me ? your looks half terrified : but let me hear your 
voice ; music will sooth, and I shall fear no longer, 

Adr. Orrila ! but a minute since, my heart seemed 
laboring with a crowd of matters, eager, for speech, 
and struggling to be heard ; yet now I see you, every 
thought expires in birth, and 1 forget my wishes while 
I strive to utter them 

Orr, (going to him, taking one hand and looking 
tenderly in his face) How is it with you, Adrian ? 
your hand is feverish, and it trembles at my touch. 

Jidr. Ah ! tis for the last time that touch must agi- 
tate this pulse : its throbs are eloquent, and would ex- 
^ress farewell ! 

Orr. Then it is true that you must leave us. But, 
as the departure is sudden, I trust the absence will be 
brief. Say, when will you return ? 

Adr. Never. 

Orr. How, inhuman ! reeal that word, and say you 
meant it not. 



Act IV] AND ORRIL A 63 

Adr, Tis my resolve ; I will not ; I dare not, re- 
torn to Rosenheim. 

Orr. Name but the cause — 

Adr. Yourself! 

Orr. Just heavens ! I ? 

Adr. Yes ; I dare not meet Orrila as the — 

Orr As what ? speak, Adrian, speak ! 

Adr As the wife of Altenburg. (his voice falters 
as he speaks) 

Orr. i after a pause) I have not yet consented to 
receive that name. 

Adr. Ah! but your father will command. 

Orr 1 may still hesitate to obey. 

Adr. [vehemently) Will you ; oh, glorious Or- 
rila, will you then, dispute the fatal order? say that 
you will, and my beating, dying soul shall bless 
you for renewed existence. Orrila, / love you, — 
fondly, fiercely love you ; and if you wed another, I 
must die ! 

Orr. Adrian ! 

Adr. Forgive the wild confession of a desperate 
man. Yes I avow my guilt ; poor and undistin- 
guished as f am, my presumptuous heart has dared 
to love you. Till this hour I never knew the fatal 
nature of my passion ; while possessed of your society, 
the flame glowed gently, and I ihovLghi \i friendship ; 
but now, condemned to lose you, it blazes with des- 
truction, and I find it — lo^e ! 

Orr. (timidly) Perhaps I guessed your secret, Ad- 
rian, before you told me ; sympa hy breathed it in 
whispers, and 1 heard of your heart, while I listened 
to my own. 

Adr. [catching her hand) Rapturous accents ; am 
I then 50 blest that Orrila returns my love ? 

Orr. Away with artful, cold reserve ; the honest 
soul despises forms, and what it thinks without a 
blush it dares to speak. I feel not shame, to sanction 
your love, and confess my oxen. Oh, Adrian ; ours 
is no common cause of passion, no casual link, forg- 
ed yesterday, that gold can rivet stronger, or hands 



54 ADRIAN [Dimond 

of angry kindred break. Even with our lives our 
loves began, and affection was elder born to memory, 
in both our hearts, a cherished inmate, has it ever 
dwelt, grown with our forms, and strengthened as our 
minds expanded ; our mutual confidence has been un- 
bounded, and reason justifies what habit first induced. 
Is there a force in nature then to obliterate traces so 
confirmed, and so endearing. Ah, no ! a father's 
mandate may break this heart, but cannot change it. 
You, Adrian, are the only man I love, and I never can 
regard another. 

Adr. Your words, at once, are my blessing and my 
curse — the knowledge of your love aggravates the hor- 
ror of your loss. I must behold the woman I adore, 
forced a shrieking victim into another's arms, be con- 
scious that she suffers, and mourn her sorrows, whilst 
I madden with my own 

Orr. Hold, nor judge of Orrila so meanly ; a pa- 
rent's authority is awful ; but heaven may impose a 
claim more sacred. Shall 1, before the altar, clasp a 
husband's hand, unchosen of the heart ? invoke the 
dfity to witness falsehood, and dare pronounce an 
everlasting oath of love, while treacherous thoughts 
deride the words of faith, and all my doating soul is 
yielded \o another? never, never I the timid, yielding 
girl can prove a heroine, when virtue sanctifies re- 
sistance ; and thou2:h death were the penalty ordain- 
ed, firmly would 1 brave it, rather than violate the 
presence of my god with perjury, or give to an honest 
man a wife, might prove his shame, 

Adr. But, fi>rce, brutal force may be used, and ty- 
ranny accomplish where persuasion fails. Beset with 
persecution, and Adrian far away, how shall your 
gentle spirit bear the trial ? no! one only way can. 
calm my fears ; this night I quit the valley ; will 
Orrila embrace a wanderer's fortune, and partake my 
flight ? 

Orr. The thought appals ! does Adrian ask me to 
desert my father's roof ? 

Adr. Oh, god, I did— but already I repent the in- 



Act IV] AND ORRILA 55 

famous request, {impetuously) Think me a villain, 
Orrila, and drive me from your mind for ever ! a 
selfish wretch ; poor, and without a name ; who 

would seduce the heiress of unbounded wealth 

tempt her, from peace and greatness, to disgraceful 
want — and chill her glowing beauties with a beggar's 
cold embrace ; despise me, Orrila, for 1 deserve your 
scorn. Heaven preserve you, dearest maid ; Ad- 
rian quits your injured presence, and is gone for 
ever ! 

Orr. Stay, stay ! I pardon and regard you still. — 
Are we then doomed, indeed to part? and were the 
brilliant visions of our early years, fantasmas all ? dew- 
webs, sparkling on the morning grass, which noon- 
tide suns dissolve ? 

Adr Oh, in mercy let me fly, nor torture me with 
thoughts of happiness for ever lost I 

Orr, No — 1 cannot, will not lose you ; your warn- 
ing words were traths, and now I feel and see the 
mighty dangers that beset me. When you shall beat 
distance — no protector near ; a suitor resolute ; and 
a father stern, the marriage altar may be lit with 
deadly brands ; vows may be forced, and a fettered 
victim given for a bride In this moment I am either 
saved or lost ! lover, friend ! I call upon you to pre- 
serve me. Take me then, Adrian, I am yours, fof 
ever yours ; and only death shall disunite our fates ! 

Adr. Excelling bounty : will you, then, give 
the treasure of your charms to one, whose only wealth 
is love? resign the dazzling pomp, and luxuries of 
rank, to rove obscurely at the sport of chance, and 
share in solitudes the pittance of a swain ? 

Orr. Without a sigh, I can accept the change. — - 
Thou art my v/orld, and all my wishes end in thee ! 
o'er moor and mountain, though the tempest beat, 
let Adrian lead me, and my step shall never fail ; 
his voice, sweeter than the sky-lark's carol, shall 
cheer my spirit, when fresh morning breaks ; and in 
his arms o'nights, I'll find soft shelter and the sweet- 
est rest ! 



56 ADRIAN [Dimond, 

Adr. My brain grows wild with rapture ! but I 
mubt seiz;e upon my bliss at once to render it secure ; 
this very evening must you fly. 

Orr. Madam Clermont surely will not chide me 
when she learns my rashness ; no, she may grieve for 
me, but 1 think she will forgive me. My father too, " 
even there I still will hope — when the first storm of ■ 
angry passion shall subside, nature^s voice will hush 
the murmurs of ambition, and softly plead at his 
heart, an only daughter's cause Is not a parent's 
dearest wish his offspring s happiness ? and when I 
am yours, cannot I say to him, '' that wish is grati- 
fied ?" oh, yes ! my father will pardon and bless me ; 
he will see that I am happy, and then he will bless 
Adrian also, as the cause of felicity ! 

Adr. Hope's fairest handmaid is my love ; she 
blunts the arrow ere the bow is drawn to wound ; and, 
like the bee of Corsica, from natural bitters can ex- 
tract a chymic sweet ! 

enter lothaire. 

Loth. Lady ! a crowd of villagers, homeward speed- 
ing, now descend the mountain's side : through yon- 
der thicket wmds a path, by which you may regain 
the castle unperceived — but take it swiftly, or you 
will not escape their notice. 

Orr, Let us then away. Adrian, a short adieu, soon 
shall we meet again to separate no more. 

Adr Two hours hence, beyond the ruined watch- 
tower, love will expect its boon. 

Orr. Doubt not my coming. Soon as the rosy star 
of evening dimples western skies and float gray mists 
o'er stream and dale, shall Orrila redeem her pledge. 
Hence, doubt and fear ; dark be the hour and peril- 
ous the way, love lifts his torch, and leads his vota- 
ries on ! [exeunt severally 

(the voices of merriment, accompanied with rustic mU' 
sic, sound at a distance on the mountain^ the pipes 
of the shepherds are heard from, different sides. 



Act IV] AND ORRILA 57 

and gradually a crozcd of peasantry cross the 
bridge, and assemble in front) 

Friedbert. (a peasant) Now, neighbors ! to our 
several homes in peace ; the setting sun that shines 
upon our dwellings, should give our hearts an equal 
glow. Evening is the peasant's season of delighi, for 
then, in careless pastime, he forgets the toils of day : 
his infants prattle round the cottage hearth, and love's 
sweet hand prepares the social board. 

PASTORAL. 

How beauteous is evening ! the setting-sun shines, 
Like a faint dying rose, on yon mountains of snow j 

Hew beauteous is evening ! the full clustered vines 
Absorb the last day beam and mimic its glow. 

How sweet is the union of natural sounds ! 

The wood-pigeon's murmur, the bleat of the flock ; 
The squirrel's light step, through the bush as it bounds, 

And the loud rush of eagle-wings seeking the rock. 

Peace broods o'er the scene with a parent's delight, 
These fresh falling dews are pearls thaw'd from her 
vest : 

In the gray mist she watches the cradle of night. 
And rears her white shrine in the cottager's breast. 

STAiy ZA— ^3/ the men. 

Tis time for the shepherd his lambs now to fold, 
Already the breeze from the mountain blows cold ; 
The orgies of twilight begin in the air. 
And the hum of the new'wak'd creation is there : 
The dark droning beetle, the small buzing gnat. 
And the circling career of the weak sighted bat. 

STANZA — by the icomen. 

Soon cradled in darkness, will planets shine fair , 
A garland of gems drawn through night's raven-hair. 
Soon, star of the green earth ; in mossy lanes damp 
The giow-worm, shall sport her small emulous lamp, 
F 



58 ADRIAN [Dimond 

And seem from her palace of dew-drops, to say — 
" My sisters of heaven, I rival your swayP 

Evening welcome to our bowers, 

With thy train of close-veird hours, 

That like nuns behind thee press. 

As their hooded prioress ! 

Now through misty space from far 

Steals thy dewy-dropping car, 

Down the dale, through wood, o'er stream. 

Hither drive thy wizard team, 

And we vow trim rites to pay, 

Wavering waltz, and ballad lay ! 

Come away to lawn and bower, 

Come ! we call thee — tis thy hour ; 

The wolf howls ! thy watch is set. 

Evening ? ho ! grave dame well met ! 

END OF THE FOURTH ACT. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I — madam Clermont'' s house, 
enter madam. 

Mad, Tis dark, quite dark, and still he comes not. 
What can detain him! this suspense distracts me ! 

enter ida. 

Mad, Now, Ida ; is he returned ? 

Ida. No, madam ; but, as I stood with Leopold, 
watching beyond the gate, just now, a sudden clamor, 
as of men in qqarrel, sounded from the forest. 

Mad. Ah, my foreboding heart! 

Ida. Twas too dark to distinguish objects ; but, as 
we listened, the name of Adrian was often repeated. 
Presently the voices became louder, and the clash of 
swords succeeded. Leopold left me, and ran toward-^ 
the spot ; but see. madam, he returns ! 



Act V] AND ORRILA SS 

enter Leopold. 

Mad. Leopold, speak — ray son. 

Leo. Alas, my gentle, brave yoimg master ! 

Mad. Speak ; give in a breath my fate ! 

Leo His life is close beset ; I saw him fall — a sword 
was pointed at his breast. 

Mad, Not Altenburg's ? man, man — save me from 
the last distraction! o, say it was not Altenburg's. 

Leo I know not whose : numbers prevented my ap- 
proach. 

Mad. Avenging fiends, your work is done ; now 
plunge your victim in the flame she merits. 

Ida Lady ! 

Mad. Away ; nay, hold me not ! 

Ida. Whither do you rush? 

Mad. Where curses call, and bleeding martyrs wait 
— to my reward ; a rack, destruction, and the grave ! 

[exeunt 



SCENE II — inside of the cottage — minna and louit- 
GARDE, discovered at work. 

DUET— LOUIl^ARDE and MINNA. 

The queerest of goblins, the quaintest of sprites. 
Who in good deeds and mischief alternate delights, 

Is he who dwells high on the mountain — 
All winter he toils and. blows fire in the mine, 
But rambles abroad w^hen the weather is fine, 

And eats the fat frog o' the fountain. 
He milks Cicely's cow, long before it is dawn — 
While farmers lie snoring, he threshes their corn ; 
Then down at his length he sprawls flat on the chaff, 
And greets the scared clown with a riotous laugh. 

Number Nip ; Number Nip ! 
O, mountainous, mischievous, marvellous Nip ! 

T'other night, as poor Roger was crossing the moor, 



60 ADRIAN [Dimond 

And sought through the darkness his own cottage door. 

The fiend met him, mantled in vapor — 
Now here and now there danced the fanciful sprite, 
O'er swamps and stale pools, with a wicked blue light. 

Which Roger mistook for a taper. 
For hours the night wand'rer was fain to pursue, 
StiP fu'-ther and further the knavish light drew ; 
The ground sudden quaked— presto ! vanished the fire, 
And r)oor Roger san: up to his ears in the mire — 

Number Nip ; Number Nip ! 
O, mountainous, mischievous, marvellous Nip I* 

Mm, Heigho, cousin Louitgarde ; my heart counts 
every moment with a throb—surely it is time Lothaire 
should return to us ; is not the hour yet run ? 

Loa. Oh, yes, long since ; and see, the sands have 
a second time half filled the glass ; [raising the hour- 
glass) 

Min. Hist, a footstep now hastens to the door — tis 
Lothaire. 

enter lothaire. 

Min. (eagerly) Now, my dear brother; now let us 
hear ! 

Loii (coming on the other side) Oh, Lothaire ; we 
have been se impatient. 

(Lothaire turns peevishly away, and drawing a chair ^ 
seats himself in sullen silence) 

^Min. Brother, brother; wh?\ ails you? 

Lou, Are you not well, Lothaire ? 

Loth Yes, no ; dont pester me with questions — I 
have no words to wast*^ on women. 

Min. Hey day ! what breeze has blown this humor 
on? 

Loth. Nay, bear with me — I am well nigh mad ; 

* Nu?nber Nip is among the popular superstitions of 
middle Germany. 



Act V] AND ORRILA 61 

but I mean no wrong to you — oh, I am a miserable 
little fellow ! 

Min, Mercy on all sinners ; what cross chance 
now ? 

Loth. I am undone, discarded by my master, and 
turned adrift to float, as I may, on the wide sea of life ; 
but that's a trifle — Adrian and the lady Orrila, the ten- 
derest and truest lovers; they, for whose dear sake I 
could have welcomed ruin with a smile, alas! they are 
also undone, and share my misery. 

Min Heavens ! has their escape then been prB- 
vented? 

Loi/i. Oh, yes— a villain betrayed their secret to the 
count ; before the luckless fugitives could reach the 
wood, guards surrounded and forced them from each 
other — the brave, heroic Adrian vainly strove against a 
host of foes; his weapon was beaten from his grasp, 
and I saw him dragged, disgraced with manacles, be- 
fore the count ; still defying, though subdued, like a 
young lion snared in the hunter's net, that struggles in 
despair, and seems to scorn the destiny he cannot 
shun . 

Min. And the lady Orrila? 

Loth. I know not further — I was suspected as an ac- 
cessary to their flight. Pride would not suffer me to 
tell a falsehood, and the old count ordered his laqueys 
to thrust me, like a base felon, from his gates. 

3Iin Were you beaten then ? 

Loth. Beaten, beaten — look in my face, Minna, and 
tell me, if it bears the stamp of shame ? tis true, I 
am not very big, nor over strong, perhaps — but I have 
a heart, that would have strained and cracked into a 
thousand pieces, ere any tall, raw bone fellow of them 
all, should have brought blows to market, and not been 
paid their value back. Beaten— quotha, beaten ! 

(a knock at ike door) 

Min, Nay, my dear angry bantam cock ; smooth 
down your plumes, and crow not so loudly, for we 
bave a visitor. 

F 2 



62 ADRIAN [Dimond 

HAiTFRoy enters at the door which Louitgarde has 
opened. 

Hail. Lothaire, a word with you ; I come from your 
late master. 

Loth. From prince Altei bu g ? 

Hau. Yes — he has learned from the count the story 
of your offence, and approves of your expulsion from 
the castle. 

Loih. I have indeed deserved to lose his favor — I 
feel it, 1 confess it. 

Hau, But his justice is tempered still with mercy — 
he sends you by me this purse, and bade me say when 
I delivered it, thoui^h he discards you from his service, 
he yet feels an interest in your fate, and will not suf- 
fer poverty to drive you into vice. 

Loth, Kind, noble spiri ; oh, that I should merit 
the reproach of such a master ! 

Hau. Here is the purse. 

Loth, (putting it away with emotion) { cannot touch 
it, the coin would damn mc — 1 can toil, beg, starve, 
die, rather than revel in the bounty of a patron I have 
wronged — take it back, Haufroy, for 1 dare not touch 
it: it is not pride that hinders me, indeed it is not. 
Tell the prince that his poor, broken hearted boy will 
never cease to bless his name, but that he dares not 
receive his gold — {bursts into tears) 

Hau, Poor lad ; though prepared to blame, I now 
must pity you ; oh, Lolhaire, what a fatal blot has this 
inconsiderate hour, fixed on an escutcheon heretofore 
white and spotless as the lily's cup, ere sun or rain 
hath freckled it For threesrore years, man and boy, 
I have Hved in the family of Rosenheim, and never till 
now was shame seen upon their faces, or sorrow heard 
within their halls. 

3Ii7i. Good Haufroy, speak not thus, or in sooth, 
my poor brother's heart will break — where is young 
Adrian now ? (to Fried bert) 

Hau. Cast into the dungeon, far from the light of 
day. The count's passion knows no bound — heaven 



Act VJ AND ORRILA «3 

help the luckless youth ; he was seized in the very fact 
of stealing away an heiress, and by our saxon law, 
the penalty of such a crime is death. 

Loih. Death, death ! oh, Haufroy, in mercy say it is 
not so, or my brain wiii burst. 

Hau. Start not, for tis truth — Adrian's fate is cer- 
tain. 

Loth, I will prevent or share it — Haufroy, on 
my knee 1 beseech it, let me pass with you to the 
castle. 

Hau. Mad youth, what purpose could you serve ? 

Loth, I will fling myself at the count's and at my 
master's feet — tell them, /have been the wretched 
cause of all, and that 1 alone should suffer. Turn not 
from me, Haufroy — if you rej^^.ct my suit, despair will 
end me. 

Hau, Come then, thou virtuous too late, thy peni- 
tence excuses, though it cannot remedy thy fault. 

M'ln, We will tell our beads in your absence, and 
pray to every saint in the calendar, for eloquence to 
touch the count with pity. If Adrian suffers, our 
valley will bewail its sweetest swain, its golden har- 
vest bend unripened to the ground, and all its cheer- 
ful woodlands strew their leaves, ere autumn shakes 
the tree. 

GLEE — LOTHAIRE aW(f MINNA, 

On earth's cold lap poor Adrian lies, 

Where falling eve-drops count his sighs ; 

He starts ! and clanks his galling chain — 

Thin echo starts, and clanks again, (starts again) 

{the deep and heavy toll of the curfew^ announcing 
the approach of nighty is heard at intervals^ soften- 
ed by distance) 

Hark, hark, from abbey turret near, 

Slow swings the curfew bell : 
Ah, m3, to fancy's shrinking ear 

Tt tolls a lover's knell. 



64 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Now loud in air, the dirge -notes swell, 
I hear them — listen — bim— borne — bell ! 



SCENE II — an antechamber in the castle, 
enter ANSLiEM^follozceddy madam clermont. 

^ns. (gruffly) I tell you again, mistress, that you 
ask in vain— my lord will admit no visitors. 

Mad. Alas ! mine is no idle call of ceremony, 
tis a heart broken mother, imploring mercy for her 
child. Surely, good man, you know my face ? 

Ans. Ay, I know it well enough, and I know 
your son's too — a plague on the family face, say I, 
it has wrought nothing but mischief since it was 
shown in our valley — but once for all, my master will 
not see you. 

Mad. Nay, but deliver my humble message to him, 
and his purpose may relent : behold my anguish, and 
do so much for charity. 

Ans. Charity begins at home ; and I dont see why 
I should thrust myself into the way of trouble, only for 
the chance of a stranger's thanks. 

Mad, I am not rich ; yet I can reward a friendly 
service. Look, good man, — this purse — this cross- 
let, too — all shall be yours, if you admit me to the 
count. 

Ans. Umph I I have naturally a wish to oblige, but 
tis as much as my place is worth to serve you : my lord 
is in a parlous fury, and has given strict orders not to 
be disturbed ; however, I've a tender heart ; and, as 
you say, out of charity one ought to — but is that lock- 
et made of real jewels ? 

Mad. In truth it is— o, do not torture me. 

Ans. Well, well, I dont doubt your word — but if 
I do serve you, tis out of charity, more than the larre 
of gain — I hope you understand that rightly. Wait 
here in the ante chamber, and I'll try what can be 
done. [exk 

Mad. Wretched Matilda ! when will the chastise- 



Act V] AND ORRILA 65 

ment of my offences cease ? will not heaven accept 
of penitence without atonement ? must man be taught 
to curse, ere god will pardon me ? if so, I must in- 
deed despair ; for never can the dark confession pass 
these lips ; shame fixes there an everlasting seal, and 
in the grave my secret must be buried with me. — 
Yet, oh ! the innocent one ; the object of my fondest 
love, is doomed to suffer for my sake. Haply, even 
now, from his dungeon's depth, my darling Adrian 
calls upon my name, and invokes me to preserve 
him. Inhuman ! J hear him, yet can mock his pray- 
er. Soon he may be dragged to an ignominious 
death ; and as he passes to the scaffold, in agony of 
spirit he may point to me, and cry, *' behold the un- 
natural mother, who could have saved her son, yet 
would not!" 

re-enter anslem. 

Ans. I thought what answer 1 should bring you 
back : my lord commands you to leave the castle, and 
trouble him no further. 

Mad. [fiercely) 1 will not obey his mandate : I 
Gome here to claim a son, and without him I never 
will go hence — this proud, imperious lord shall see 
me ; or like a plague. 111 hang upon his threshold, 
and pierce his ear with everlasting cries. 

Jns. Nay, but I must tell you — 

Mad. Away ! and let me pass ! (she casts tht 
jiurse at his feci) there is your hire — stoop, and be 
absolved by gold for all neglects. 

['passes him and exit 



SCENE III — a saloon — rosekheim discovered, seated 
at a table — git ha standing by him crying, 

Ros. How dare you, old woman, to disobey my 
orders? 1 commanded you to quit my presence 
half an hour ago — must I still endure your senseless 
Jargon ? 



66 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Gith. Ah, my lord — be not so harsh with your poor 
old servant— indeed 1 cannot quit you, without a word 
of comfort to carry lady Orrila 

Ros. Carry her my curse— no— not my curse ; but 
tell her i will never forgive her. 

Gitk. Ah ! such a message would break her poor 
heart at once. If your lordship could only see her, 
just as 1 left her in her chamber, fixed like a^tatue, 
her hands folded on her knees — her cheeks so deadly 
pa!«, and her finedark eyes turned upwards to heaven, 
all streaming with tears — ah ! sure it is a sight would 
melt a heart of stone. 

Ros. i am glad she suffers — to know that she is 
miserable rejoices me — if she was to weep till the Elbe 
oversowed with her tears, she could not wash out the 
stain she has fixed upon her family. 

{a person knocks softly at the door) 

How now ! who knocks there ? 

A N s L E M appears. 

Ans. Please you, my lord 

Ros No, sirrah 1 it displeases — disobedience, like an 
egyptian plague, taints all my house, and leaves no 
wholesome creature within its walls. Twas my posi- 
tive order no person should intrude. 

Ans. in sooth, my lord, Pm not in fault — that 
woman is so obstinate, there's no way to rule her. 

Ros. Eh, hasn't she left the castle yet ? 

Ans. No, my lord ; nay, more, she insists upon 
admittance to your lordship, and declares you shall 
see her. 

Ros. How ! vastly well ! we shall find a way to set- 
tle with this positive personage : she insists truly ! ve- 
ry right ; let her enter, then . she has chosen a lucky 
moment ; I'm in a delightful temper to receive her — 
yes. show the lady hither immediate y Old woman, 
iegone. {Githa appears about to intrcat again) Once 
more begone, I say I 



A€t V] AND ORRILA §7 

{he stamps furiously with his foot, and Githa retires, 
terrified at his rage, the count then drav:s his chair 
forxoard, and seats himself with an air of excessive 
irritation) 

Now, then, for this determlnrd lady : no doubt twas 
she who tutored her hopeful son for this exploit : well, 
well, her visit shall meet a due reception. 

enter madam. 

{she advances with an unsteady step, and b^nds with 
hnmlUty before the coimt^ zvho regards her sternly^ 
and does not return her saluiaticm) 

Ros. Weil, madam, your high and mighty pleasure 
is complied with : you do see me, and now for the 
business : what have you to say ? 

Mad. One word. Mercy. 

Ros. I expunged that word from my dictionary, 
when a villain's hand blotted the page where honor 
was inscribed. 

Mad. Count Rosenheim, you are a parent. 

Ros. Ay, madam, a wretched one your son 

has rendered me such 1 thank you for the recol- 
lection. 

Mod. Is there then no hope ? are you resolved on 
his destruction ? 

Ros. Not so ; I never take upon myself to decide 
the fate of any individual, whatever be my provo- 
cation ; my cause shall be submitted to the excel- 
lent lav/s of my country — which never fail to redress 
the injured, or to protect an honest subject against 
the aggressions of the profligate and unprincipled ! 

Mad. But those laws are terrible. 

Ros. Only to the vicious : innocence regards them 
undismayed ; but, in a word, madam, be this my fixed 
answer to all expostulation ; your son shall receive 
justice, and only justice ; if the injured man demands 
no more, how shall he who commits the wrong expect 
indnls;ence? 



68 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Mad. Oh, heavens ! do not send me from you 
thus ! 

Ros. Sdeath, woman ! I did hope to have kept my 
temper with you ; but you provoke me now beyond all 
patience. How have you the effrontery to come into 
my presence upon such an errand ; after you and your 
son have plotted against me, the basest injury a man 
of rank could suffer ; to steal away my heiress ; to 
pollute the stock of nobility with plebeian blood; and 
to prop your own bankrupt fortunes with dishonest 
spoils; to — 

Mad. Hold, my lord — nor wantonly trample on a 
wretch whom affliction has already beaten to the 
ground ! though I lose happiness, let me retain hon- 
or : by every sacred name, I swear, even in remotest 
thought, I was not privy to your daughter's flight ; and 
had 1 known her fatal purpose, would have perished 
rather than deserved your harsh reproach. 

Ros. {somewhat softened) Well, madam, if such 
really be the case, and you have protested it with so- 
lemnity, 1 am sorry for your misfortune: lean readily 
believe, unworthy children may spring from honorable 
parents ; and if 1 have accused you undeservedly, I 
sincerely request your pardon. 

Mad Ah, that your forgiveness could be won half i 
so easily as mine is granted : but you have a generous, I 
noble nature — and, by all its godlike attributes, I im- \ 
plore you to have compassion on a desolate, distracted i 
woman, {she casts herself on her knees before him) 
Release my boy ! restore him to these widowed arms i 
— and to the globe's remotest corner will v^e fly, never j 
even by our name to wound your peace again. H 

Ros, Tis in vain — I am deaf to all intreaty-^— i 

Mad, {catching his arm with convulsive fervor^ .^ 
Count, a soul now kneels to you for salvation ; if '"] 
Adrian suffers, I shall be his murderess, and his inno- \ 
cent blood will fall on my head, and sink me to perdi- ^ 
tion. 

Ros. Away, away, you rave 

Mad, No ; I am not yet mad, Ihongh soon I mfiv 



Act V] AND ORRILA 69 

be driven so ; you cannot, dare not, destroy ray Adri- 
an; he is — 

Ros. What? 

Mad {shuddering in agony) There is a dreadful se- 
cret — may 1 confide in you ? will you swear not to be- 
tray my trust? 

Ros, {surprised) I am a man of honor. 

Mad. {looking suspiciously around^ and speaking 
low) Ay ; but swear never to breathe in mortal ear, the 
lightest hint of my confession — swear it, count ; sol- 
emnly swear it. 

{she grasps his hand between hers, and rivets her eye on 
his with terrifying wildness — the count appears as* 
tonished and irresolute — while he hesitates^ the voice 
of Altenburg soiihds without) 

Alt. {without) I must see the count directly — 
Mad. {releasing her hold, and starting up with the 
look and accent of despair) — -Tis now too late, and I 
am dumb for ever, (she draws her veil quickly over 
her face) 

enter altenburg. 

Alt, Count ; I come to make a trial of your friend- 
ship — tis r.ow in your power to oblige me eternally. 

Ros, My friend ! you should command, rather than 
request. 1 am your debtor in kindness for more than 
I can ever pay. 

Alt. Grant me one favor, and you discharge the ob- 
ligation nobly. Say, have I your promise ? 

Ros. Irrevocably. 

Alt. Enough — I take you at your word — (passes to 
madams takes her hand with eagerness) — woman of 
affliction, cease to weep — the vial of wrath is drained, 
and the chastising angel smites no more. 

(he returns to the door, and throwing it open, introdu- 
ces Adrian) 

Behold the boon I claim— tis the restoration of an only 
son to the arms of a widowed mother. 
G 



70 ADRIAN [Dimond 

(Adrian rushes forward^ madam shrieks faintly^ and 
drops lifeless into his arrns) 

Hos. Prince ; what does this mean ? 

u4lt Strictly justice — life for life. This youth pre- 
served mine ; and now, through your consent, 1 re- 
deem his from equal periL 

Bos, Prince ! prince ! my honor will remain for ever 
wounded, if that youth escapes. 

Alt. And mine would be slain outright, was he con- 
demned to surfer. Altenburg has broken his chains ; 
will Rosenheim's be the hand to rivet them again ? 

Adr Look up, my mother ! tis Adrian calls ; will 
you not bless him with a word? 

(madam without answering^ feebly disengages her- 
self from Adrian's embrace — totters toward Alten- 
burg — sinks on her knees and sobbing audibly^ 
takes his hand and kisses it) 

Alt, No thanks, dear lady : but if you were once 
my enemy, only say I have atoned to you, and that I 
am now forgiven. 

Mad, All is forgiven ! all shall be atoned ! 

(^.^e draws aside the veil^ and gazes upon him, pale 
and trembling) 

Alt. Why do you fasten thus your eyes upon me ? 
gracious heaven ! what dreadful charm is in your looks? 
those eyes; they pierce my soul— never but once I 
gazed on such before 3 terrible illusion; speak but a 
word — one word. 

Mad, Matilda! 

(her eyes close, and she falls prostrate at his feet) 

Alt, Almighty powers; tis she, the wronged, be- 
trayed, and still adored Matilda. O, let me catch you 
from the ground and clasp you, for ever in these tremb- 
ling arms. Matilda, look upon me ; receive my pen- 
itence, and bless me with your pardon. 

M(id. Away ; such bliss must ne'er be mine, ($trug- 



ActV] AND ORRILA 71 

gl?ng to force him from her) Nay. bold me not. You 
know not what you do. You press to your bosom a 
serpent, that would have stung your noble heart to 
death. 

Alt. O, do not shun me. Fancy luxuriates, and I 
grow wild with hopes— Matilda, Adrian, mother, son, 
oh god ! is he that son ; dare 1 to call him ours? 

Mad. {xcitk bitterness) Ours! would Altenburg 
then acknowledge Matilda Carlstein's nameless boy ? 

Alt, Rack me not with doubts so cruel ; bless me 
with a word, and say that I am still a parent ; but 
wherefore do I ask ? nature irresistibly declares 1 am, 
Adrian ; my eager arms and throbbing heart, expand 
together and invite a son. 

{he rushes forward to embrace Adrian) 

Mad. {interposing) Hold, Altenbarg. forbear ; Adri- 
an is not my son. 

Adr. Great heaven ; not your son. Oh, mother, do 
not drive me mad. 

Alt, She would deceive us both ; but the heart is 
confident and cannot err- 

Mad. Again I charge you hold. By the eternal 
majesty of truth ; here, in the face of man and heav- 
en, I swear it : Adrian is not my son. 

Adr What then am 1? how must I regard you? 

Mad. Asa fiend to be abhorred for ever. 

Adr. No, no, Adrian blesses you. 

Mad. Soon you will learn to curse me — you will — 
yoxi must — but I care not— ^my brain burns — yet all shall 
be confessed 

Alt. Matilda ! a child once blessed our love — say, in 
pity say, where is that child now? 

Mad. Dead ! prince ! dead ! dead ! dust in the grave. 
Hear me ! twenty years since, sorrowing and blush- 
ing with my wrongs, I left the gaudy mansions of my 
shame, and sought in the distant shades an humble ref- 
uge with my child; desolate as I was, when I press- 
ed my baby to my heart, 1 still felt comforted ; a brief, 
fllneive calm soothed my worn spirit, and I begaa 



72 ADRIAN [Dimond 

again to dream of peace ; when suddenly a malignant 
fever seized upon my blooming infant- for thiee wretch- 
ed days and nights I watched by its bed incessantly, 
heaven knows how fervent were my prayers ; but 
watch and prayer were vain, and the angel of death 
tore from my weak arms the only solace I retained on 
earth. Even now 1 shake with the terrors of that hour. 
It was your child, Altenburg ! and, had you seen its 
soft blue eyes for ever closing, I think you would have 
pitied its wretched mother. 

j4lf. Oh, god ; how tenderly — how truly — 
Mad Soft, let me proceed, a direful, dreary blank 
succeeded, my wits wandered, and for many months I 
became an helpless lunatic. Suddenly, recollection vis- 
ited me again, twas at the dead hour of night ; I had 
escaped from the kind peasants who tended me. and 
was sitting in the churchyard where my babe lay buri- 
ed ; as from a dream, the senses seemed to start and 
wake, no human shape or sound was near ; but the 
cold breeze of midnight played freshly on my temples, 
and I heard the fallen leaf rustle as it past me. 1 felt 
I was alone, and slowly I gazed around ; the moon, at 
its cloudless zenith, and the silent march of the stars 
were above me ; and at my feet a new-made grave, 
which my unconscious hand had been strewing o'er 
with flowers. 1 looked, and 1 knew it for my baby's ; 
I could not weep ; iire had dried up the source of tears ; 
but a new spirit, fierce and fiendlike, rose within my 
breast; I kneeled down amidst the moon light dews, 
and calling on my infant's injured shade, pronounced 
a dreadful oath of vengeance ; twas on the father of 
my child I swore to be avenged. 

Alt. Unhappy woman, how could you purpose — 
Mad. Yet a moment ; both day and night I travel- 
led on my wild design ; at last the towers of Alten- 
burgrose proudly to my sight— a thick bower conceal- 
ed me, and f watched the spot, unsettled in my aim, 
but fixed upon revenge — the castle gates unfolded ; 
and a child, lovely as cherubim, came tripping o'er the 
lawn, plucking the flowers and weaving them in play- 



Ac* 1] AND ORRILA 73 

ful wreaths. He approached the ambush where T stood 
concealed — I gazed upon his features and I knew 
their stamp: twas your son, Alteuburg. your legiti- 
mate son, whom I beheld ; *' revenge^'' I cried ; and 
as the fearless infant gambolled near the bower, 
sudden and unseen I snatched him in my arms ; the 
turbid waters of the Elbe flowed near — swift to the 
river's brink I flew and bore my victim with n>e. 

Alt. Inhuman murderess ! then by you my gf^ntl^ 
lamb was sacrificed — your hands plunged my infant in 
the roaring flood ! 

Mad. No — heaven spared me from a deed so damn- 
ed ! 1 cast his hat and mantle on the wave, but held 
the infant closely nestled to my heart : my cruel 
fraud succeeded — the clothes were found ; their wear- 
er's death believed ; and unpursued 1 bore the heir of 
Altenburg to distant realms — hither to the mour.tains 
of Saxony I fled ; and here, in peasant's weeds, I hid 
a prince's form, and reared the fruit of noble veins in 
vileness as my own ; my race of crime at last is run ! 
Adrian, 1 lose my child for ever, but you in Altenburg 
regain a /a^/^er. 

{Altenburg and Adrian^ who have hung upon the sen- 
tence in breathless impatience^ now rush towards 
each other) 

Mad. Ay ; fly to each other's arms, and kill me 
with the sight of bliss I never must partake ; but I do 
not murmur ; no, may you be blessed for ever, whilst 
I eternally am curst ! 

{her corporal and mental powers appear to yield to- 
^ether^ and she is sink'^ng, when Rosenheim catch- 
es her and sustains her) 

Ros. {vehemently) No, lady ; no ! that man must 
have the heart of a wild beast, who could curse a poor 
repentant sinner, that, stricken to the earth, implores 
for mercy ! 

Adr, ( flying to her) Mother, dearest mother \ 
G 2 



SP4 ADRIAN [Dimond 

Mad. (feebly raising her head) Ah ! that name, 
Adrian 

Adr, {impetuously) Is your son ; you are still his 
parent, or Adrian is still an orphan. 

AlU Matilda, our offences have been mutual — let 
our expiation be the same ; one son is lost to us, yet 
another stiiJ is ours. 

Mad, Ours f o, Altenburg ! 

Alt. Let Adrian be your son — let Matilda be my 
wife. 

Adr. Blessings on my father. 

Mad, Adrian, lead me ; let me kneel — 

Alt No — here, next a husband's heart, be folded, 
and absolved for ever. 

{Rosenheim and Adrian support Matilda — Altenburg 
meets her with extended arms, and they sink on 
their knees as they embrace) 

(the folding doors at the back of the scene open^ 
and oKKiLX appears leaning on githa and lo- 
thaire) 

Loth. Look up, sweet lady ; nay, never droop. 

Gith, Ah, I said your courage would fail, when put 
to't ; but you would persist, 

Ros (turning suddenly) How now; whom do I 
see ? oh, thou undutiful, disobedient 

Orr. Ah, sir, spare your rebuke — your frown alone 
has too much terror for your child ; humbly J come — 

Ros. I know it — you come to whine, and whimper, 
and wheedle a fond father to forgive you ; but you are 
too late, for 1 resolved upon your punishment just eight 
seconds ago ; look up in my face, and tell me, if you 
do not read there a rigorous sentence ! 

Orr. (timidly raises her eyes— Rosenheim smiles) 
Sir ; father. 

Ros, Come hither girl; give me your hand ; but 
no, I'll take it by proxy, and you, young man, shall 
be my representative, (to Adrian) 



Act VJ AND ORUILA 7lr 

Orr. All, dare I to believe- 

Ros. Any thing, but, that your father can be incon- 
sistent ; you musi not dare to believe that ; for I never 
in my life rescinded a resolution 1 had once formed ; I 
always said that Aiienburg should be your husband, 
and, tis now, only, to an Aiienburg 1 resign you. 

Adr. My Orrila ; I read your marvei in your eyes — 
but soft you for a while, and these strange-seeming 
chances shail clearly be avouched for truths. 

Orr. 1 know nor to beiieve, yet will not doubt — o, 
if 1 dream, never let me wake from such delightful 
visions, but die of the sweet phanraby and only find out 
the deceit in paiadise. 

Gith. What ; does your lordship forgive my young 
lady ? please the saints then, I'll dance a gavot at the 
wedding. 

Loth. When pardon touches all, must I alone des 
pair of mercy ? does my dear master banish me, nev- 
er to hope recal ? 

AlL i^'rom me, your fortunes are indeed divorced, 
but I will marry them to a kinder service, whence no 
fick4e wish can chance to stray. Kneel to the fair Or- 
rila ! for henceforth there your duties must be bound. 
Now, my Matilda, let our pilgrim loves that have ful- 
filled the penance of their youthful fault, rest at the 
happy shrine, and meet succeeding pleasures doubly 
relished by needful memory of disasters past. 

Mad. Wondering, trembling ; touched with pious 
awe — I muse ; am conscious ; and adore. But now 
I stood upon creation's verge, a lonely hermit atom- 
living, yet unallyed to kindred life — lo ! even as a 
moment ; husband ; offspring ; friends ; with all the 
heaven -born social charities, endetir existence and in 
vite me to a home. 

Thus when fierce winds the midnight deep deform^. 
And shrieks on high the spirit of the storm ; 
The shivering mariner, aghast with fear. 
Clings to the mast, and thinks his doomsday near | 
Sudden— the dark, dread anger clears away, 



76 ADRIAN AND ORRTLA [Dimond 

Clouds blush with light warm strikes the new-born 

day. 
In murmuring melody the iwaves subside, 
And breeding halcyons nestle o'er the tide ; 
Throu2;h heaven's blue vast swift kindling glories run, 
And waking worlds adore the goldf n sun. 

[exeunt omnes 



THB EN0 OF ADRIAN AKD ORRILAi 



EPILOGUE. 

enter git ha. 

Now one confusion through the realm is found, 

And noise and clamor every where abound, 

And every //eewa?2 fk.sls his conscious weight, 

And Join herself, is a my lady great. 

1 come to canvass, you. box, gallery, and pit, 

For you return our parliament of wit ; 

Wlv'p! here, in Covent Garden still, a hustings stands, 

And sheriff Githa aslis a show of bands. 

For a yoang candidate, though not untried, 

But in whose gratitude you may confide ; 

W'ho vows and swears, return him due elected, 

Your rights, your laws, shall ever ba respected ; 

In short, he promises— hnl who minds that. 

All members joro.?^i5e— therefore, verbum sat, 

I'll to my canvass then— what shall 1 say ? 

'* Your votes and interest, kind electors, pray" (bows) 

Let him but heail the poll this night, and i'il be bound, 

No farther opposition will be found ; 

For in this town, we know, nine tenths, the elves, 

Ne^er take the pains olzoting for themselves, 

First, then, accept my— no. t mustn't ^o begin, 

1 mminlbnbe. your suifrages to win. 

First with the yoU: g men then, my luck I'll try, 

I always pity young men, they're so shy. 

Sweet modest youth —hey ! what's this I see ? 

enter orrila, running, 

ORRILA. 

Nay, leave the young men, governess, to me. 

GIT HA. 

What, interrupted ! shall I not be heard f 

ORRILA. 

I mean no interruption, on my word, 

But merely think, Td plead with greater truth 

To youthful hearts the cause of kindred youth. 



TS EPILOGUE 

GITHA. 

indeBd, miss prate apace ! — then pray pass on ; 
1 trust each vote already here's, my cwriy 
Unless you'd wish cur 'ootes to split — 

ORRILA. 

Agreed— 
I care not ^azc, provided we succ^eed. 

GITHA 

Take then the young ones, — forward fellows, bold, 
Not that I ever tried them - but am told^ 
And on the score of long acquaintance, miners the old : 
Kind friends, who've all. like me^ been young, in turn. 

ORRTLA. 

Ye youths whose breasts with love and ardor burn. 
Give him your interest, cherish rising merit, 

GITHA. 

To stand a canvass nozc, requires some spirit. 
And as the poet says, ' you freemen little know 
*' The rubs the candidate must undergo." 

ORRILA 

He would have waited on you here this night, 
But he's so timid— 

GITHA. 

Lard ! be's in a fright. 

ORRILA 

Let us then hope, divested of control, 

GITHA. 

We only trust you'll not demand a poll, 

But do it handsomely, and give him plumpers, 

ORRILA. 

His thanks we'll here proclaim, each night, in 

bumpers. 
True to yourselves, yet free from disaffection, 
You'll thus assert your freedom of election ; 

GITHA. 

While " posts'"^ and " chronicles^^ shall herald him 

to-morro-w, 
^. Duly returned for covent-oarden borough/- 



EPILOGUE, 

TO THE CURFEW. 

May I come forward ? do I friends behold? 
Has not our curfew then its own knell to'l'd ? 
I fear'd our drama's name alone would fright ye, 
Convinc'd no gothic customs could delight ye. 
Fine whims indeed were in that monarch's head, 
Who all his subjects sent at eight to bed ; 
Should modern rulers to such plans resort, 
Alas, alas ! 'twould spoil a world of sport* 

Those were strange times ! — for then the race of 
beaux 
In cot, and palace, with the sun arose ; 
And stranger still, belles, for cosmetics, knew 
Not the olympian^ but the morning dew. 
From dawn's chill breezes Ihey their roses gain'd. 
And queen o'er every thing, pure nature rsign'd ; 
Nay, such the ignorance of each untaught zany. 
They foUow'd larks as we do, — Catalani. 
What vulgar days ! I'm glad they're pass'd away ! 
Then people slept all night, and wak'd all day ; 
To them unknown the eccentric, dear delight 
To sleep all day, and visit all the night, 
Unfelt by them the joy our fashion yields, 
In winter^ towns they sought, in summer^ fields ; 
But wiser, we such natural ways disown, 
And cold months pass in country^ hot in town ; 
And though a walk at morn's refreshing hour 
Might faded beauties native bloom restore, 
All such receipts for bloom I deem a bubble, 
W^hen rouge, beyond dispute, is much less trouble : 
Thus I'm convinced all moderns truly wise^ 
Beyond the past, will presem customs prize ; 
And let me hope unenvying times that v^ere. 
You'll h^ all curfews b||f the curfew iirre. 



80 EPILOGUE 

Yet one word more : by modern changes, witches 
Have gain'd the most, for now their art enriches ; 
Once, stripes, or death their recompense became, 
While no one iclsli'd b. fortuneteller''s name : 

Then too in huts they liv'd to us, that's novel I 

We do not seek for witches in a hovel; 

We for such treasures, streets^ and squares explore : 

What splendid coaches throng a certain door ! 

Tis a good trade I'll practise it, I vow, 

Nay, with your leave, 1 will begin it nojjr — 

(after a pause^ during which she looks round the house) 

Our author's fate, I in your faces read, 
And dare foretell, our drama will succeed. 
Oh ' then, ye critics, if ye friendly feel. 
What your >^ear^^ whisper, let your hands reveal, 
Applaud, and prove me, what is not uncommon, 
And quite the fashion now— a cunning woman. 



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